


Confronting the Sun

by sandy_s



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 49,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4933930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandy_s/pseuds/sandy_s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rating: PG-13<br/>Disclaimer: I own nothing. All belongs to Joss and UPN.<br/>Dedication: For my Aunt Steph who loves vampire stories.<br/>Spoilers: Through Season 6.<br/>Summary: Set in the year 3002. Spike and Buffy are still together. The world's changed just a little bit. Buffy's POV. In case you haven't guessed, it's way AU. As Buffy's memory is more recent, the chapters get longer.<br/>Author's Note: For some reason, assume Spike knows how to play the piano. Yes, I know it’s out of character…sorry about that. I wrote this fic a looong time ago.<br/>Also, this fic was finished in November 2002 before the show explored how Slayers were created, so keep that in mind, too.<br/>A long time ago, this fic won some angst awards, but I can’t recall where…lol. So be prepared for that as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_"But when the sun in all his state  
Illumed the eastern skies,  
She passed through Glory's morning-gate,  
And walked in Paradise." --James Aldrich_

Prologue:  
3002

As per our routine, my mind stirs awake before he even thinks about moving. My senses reach out beyond the hidden wells of my dreams to languidly test the environment around us. The first thing I notice is how firmly his strong lean arms encircle my ribs and waist to hold me on his lap. . . the way he's held me since I left him the first time. The corners of my mouth upturn slightly because I haven't been away from his side for at least six hundred years.

Inhaling his familiar scent of cigarettes, fresh soap, and the mints he's so fond of sucking before he kisses me, a quiet growl unconsciously rises in the back of my throat as if to say he's *mine* and no one else better dare draw near. At the sound of the noise in the back of my throat, his body shifts under me, and the coolness of his bare torso presses against the length of my body. He returns the shiver that suddenly runs down my spine with a small shudder and deep-throated groan of his own, and I use the moment to reluctantly untangle myself from his jungle of limbs.

Balancing shakily on my sleep-cramped legs with my naked toes curling slightly at the iciness of the space ship's floor, I gaze at him as if I have never before seen him. He takes my breath away every time. . . even after centuries. His tousled curls have been the color of chestnuts as far back as I can remember although I acknowledge a vague recollection that his hair was once bleached blond, garish auburn, and honey brown at various points in our journey.

Sometimes I still cannot believe this gentle yet proud vampire. . . man. . . is mine.

In those moments as now, I reach out a single finger and trace the contour of his cheekbone so that he instinctively nuzzles toward my palm. I trail a feathery touch down his neck, over his collarbone, and down his arm to where my path ends at his left hand. While he is lost in the oblivion of the unconscious realm, I am not subjected to the intensity of the blue depths of his eyes and can marvel at his long fingers, which usually reach toward his chest when I am not snuggled next to him.

Hands and fingers fascinate me. One can learn so much about a person by what he does with his hands.

I marvel that hands, which can maim and kill the demons we've fought over the decades, can be so tender and loving with me. In awe again by the humanness he still attempts to hide on occasion, I notice the tears rising up to mar my vision. Breaking contact with my lover, I wipe the salty, warm cascade away and swallow in determination.

Today is the day that our fate will be determined, but first, I want to remember the defining events..


	2. Chapter 2

2007

Slipping into the house as silently as possible, I keep my ears perked for any sign that Spike is awake. Only the quiet hum of the dishwasher and the air conditioner fills my mind as I slip off my winter coat and pumps, groaning at the dull ache in my ankles and joints that I now know comes from more than just slaying and wearing heels. Quietly padding up the stairs in my now bare feet, I use the handrail to prevent my footfalls from being too loud. After all, Spike has his acute vampire hearing.

I usually try not to wake him during the day, so he is fresh for demon slayage with me at night. Sometimes, if I'm feeling feisty, I will pounce on his prone form and startle him out of his dreams. If he is really far-gone to reality, he switches immediately to his vampire face, complete with fangs and ridges that he patiently lets me explore with all the tingling nerves in my fingertips and lips.

Today, after the news I received, I just want to be near him, snuggled up in the cool comfort of his arms.

I approach our bed cautiously, my senses on hyper-alert for the slightest hint of movement. In the darkness, he lies unmoving on his side with one hand tucked underneath the pillow, and his face is the picture of peace that comes in a boneless sleep. My scalp tickles a little in the nearness of his presence, and in slow motion, I lift the sheets, feeling the rolling air drafts that roll past me before I slide dress and all into the place where my whole world rests. I ease my back and hips against his chest, wiggling my hips slightly to find our familiar comfortable position. In his sleep, his free arm snakes around my waist, pulling me closer to him as I inhale his scent and making me wish for a moment that he were awake.

My wish comes true.

"Kitten?" His voice is hoarse and low from disuse, and the breath from his speech laves over my earlobe, sending goose bumps flying across my skin.

I don't feel like talking about what happened just yet. "Ummm."

"What did the doc say?"

Twisting in his embrace, I face him with a shy smile and peer into his eyes from wide lids. "I love you."

"Love you, too, pet," he returns, kissing the tip of my nose. "But you didn't answer my question."

He knows me too well. . . how I like to avoid telling him things that scare me. He has always been patient and persistent with me. That's one of the characteristics I love most about him.

"Can we talk about it later, and," I run a finger down his chest seductively, "do other things now?"

He grabs my hand with his free one. "No," he insists. He can tell something is wrong.

Tears brim over my lashes and spill in hot trails over my cheeks. His fingers immediately are there, wiping away the liquid that is stinging my face. His lips sweep over my skin, which only makes me cry harder.

He sighs softly, "Please tell me, love. I want to know, so I can help."

I bury my head in his chest so that my voice is muffled. The truth sound better that way. "Leukemia. A-adult lymphocytic leukemia. I-I have a pamphlet d-downstairs."

Stroking his hand down the length of my spine, he lets me sob openly.

After several minutes, he finally asks, "W-what does that mean?"

"I'm dying."

"Are they sure? I mean, the docs? How do they know you're dying?" His tone is desperate for a small hope.

"I'm too far along. And with my body producing more white blood cells than most people because I'm a slayer, the growth of the damaged white blood cells is more rapid. Hence, there's nothing they can do."

Tears fall unbidden down his cheeks. Reaching up to cup his face in my palm, I smile in the realization that I love how he can display his rawest emotions with me. He's the first person I've ever known who feels so deeply and isn't afraid of his feelings.

He scowls suddenly and pushes away slightly. "Stop smiling. There's nothing to bloody smile about. I'm losing you all over again."

"Damn slayer healing powers. Never thought I'd be saying that one," I jest mildly, trying to soothe him in my own fashion. "And you haven't lost me, yet. I'm still here. Not going anywhere. I love you."

His muscles stiffen as his mind wars with the swirl of emotions that are painted in his eyes. In one motion, he leaves my side and our bed, causing me to gape at him in shock. "I gotta go. I gotta have some time to process this."

He pulls on a pair of jeans and is striding toward the door as I call after him, "It's sunny outside, Spike."

"I'll be all right," his voice echoes back to me.


	3. Chapter 3

2007, two weeks later

"Love?" Spike whispers in my ear as I lay half-dozing on the living room sofa.

I painfully open one eye at him. "Yeah?"

He sits down with a sigh next my feet and picks up one leg gently. He massages my calf muscle, careful not to press too hard because too much pressure bruises me. "I made sure Dawn left for uni for her night classes this evening. She didn't want to go, but I thought it'd be good for her to get out for a bit."

Wincing as one of his motions on my leg sends a sharp shoot of pain up my body, I manage to smile, "Good."

"Did you manage to eat anything?" He switches to the opposite leg.

"No. A little," my volume fades toward the end of my brief utterance, and I leave my eyes shut, relishing his touch on my bare thigh beneath my nightgown.

I know he's studied the still full soup bowl on the coffee table before he speaks again, "Are you sure you don't want to go back to the hospital, love?"

Spike, Dawn, Xander, and Willow forced me to go to the hospital emergency room last week after I fell down the stairs and received a nasty cut on my face and almost broke my arm. The bleeding refused to stop, so I relented and went to the emergency room.

"No," I state adamantly. "No tests." The doctors at the hospital had run what seemed like an infinite number of tests on my blood. I know I must appear to be a junky with my arm dotted with unhealed needle holes, my hair limp, and my skin pale.

Spike is silent but pensive as he finishes massaging my legs, and then, he softly picks me up and cradles my body in his lap.

"Ummm. . . loving the holding," I murmur weakly. His body is cold against the constant fever that I'm running.

A heartbeat later, he asks, "Have you thought about what we discussed?"

"No. Need more time to decide." I press my forehead into his neck.

"Buffy, we don't have more time. You could go any moment. The doctors know what they're talking about, love. . . this time, at least."

"I know."

He says nothing. I let several minutes pass, and he brushes his hand back and forth over my shoulder blade rhythmically. Aware of the magnitude of what I am about to do, I draw up as much energy as I can, lift my head, and open my eyes. For the first time that evening, his sapphire eyes shine into my own.

"Yes," I declare clearly so that neither he nor I can mistake the meaning of my word.

"Are you certain?" He is hesitant because the turn of events is not what he expected.

I make up for his uncertainty, "Yes, I am sure."

He lays me gently on the sofa and balances on his arms above me, taking steps not to smash my frail body. "Feel free to stop this at any time. And remember how much I love you no matter what happens."

Too fatigued to reply, I smile and tell him to continue with my eyes. He sweeps my hair away from my neck and licks the scar where Angel, the Master, and Dracula have bitten me in the past. He growls as he shifts to vampire face, and I shiver as I feel two tiny needles of pain dig into the surface of my flesh. His teeth remain in place as he allows the implications of the decision I made to become real in my mind. I feel something wet on my neck, and I recognize the source is not my blood but tears falling from my sweet lover's eyes.

With that, I make my decision final.

Inhaling so deeply my chest hurts, I bring my neck forward so that his teeth fully enter my neck and my bloodstream.

At first, the injury aches acutely, and my natural instincts encourage me to fight the bond as my lover drinks. I push my palms against him almost desperately. Slowly, the distress eases like a raging river, and I comprehend that this experience is going to be nothing like the bond I shared with Angel when I allowed him to drink from me to save him. This time, someone is saving me because neither of us has had enough time together. We are defying nature in the most selfish way possible.

Slowly, the distress of the initial merging eases like a raging river that is dammed off to a gentle stream, and I relax as he empties my body's life force as if he is a man dying of thirst in a dehydrated desert. We make no audible sounds although the flames from the fireplace roar like we are drowning in the fiery sea of hell.

My body becomes lighter and lighter until I feel weightless, and I know that if I let loose his arms, I will undoubtedly soar up into the heavens and leave the planet forever. I do not fear whatever is to happen next, and I do not resist when he comes to his feet and races me from the intense blaze of luminescence into the cold shock of night.

He runs, it seems, faster than the deadly winds of a hurricane, and I manage somehow to turn my head against the abrading force. I tremble as the remainder of the heat in my limbs dissipates into the wind and is reabsorbed by the energy of the living earth.

Am I dying? I do not feel dead. Although my soul is slick with sticky blood, life holds onto my fingertips with fierce concentration.

I hardly notice when the atmosphere changes, and the gale ceases. My vision is blurry as he carries me into the shelter; the only clear object my mind registers is a row of long, pearl-white teeth that glow against the gulf of shadows. My mind grasps the purity, and the whiteness grows to fill my entire consciousness.

He settles down with me curled despondent on his lap, and his fingers reach out to caress the ivory planks. The diaphanous notes swirl around my desiccated muscles and allow them to unearth and gather small puddles of oxygenated blood. Instinct guides me slowly up the wall of his chest and over his rising and falling shoulder to reach his broad neck.

My eyes focus on a pulsating artery that cries out with the richness of life.my life. My entire body is scraping up the last of its vitality, and I want what lies beneath the gossamer layer of skin. As if the blood vessel registers my desire, a thin stream of red liquid erupts with a will of its own through the barrier. My tremulous tongue reaches to catch the flowing drops.

My senses are immediately overwhelmed and intoxicated. Every cell of my being is consumed with a need for more. With renewed strength, I reach up and up to suck and suck, joining his powerful essence with my weakened one.

The music drives on with increasing complexity and potency.

His life force plays and dances through my blood vessels in time to the notes that erupt forth from his fingertips until suddenly I reach the bottom of his soul. Afraid to resume my original velocity, I hesitate.

The urgency of his movements forces me to continue.

I meet with raw, unadulterated pain that sweeps forward and mingles with the naked motif. The mournful melody permeates every inch of the atmosphere and soon fills my own soul until I am intricately and permanently connected to him.

Deliberately, the music begins to fade into the obscurity of the piano's memory. Vainly and feebly, his shaking hands try to force me away. Stalwartly, I cling to his neck, passionately trying to regain the euphoria I have just experienced. At last, I feel him summon all his mental energy and hurl the force directly at me.

We tumble apart.

I am aware that he stands unsteadily. I attempt to imitate his actions, but in the strangeness of never felt inebriation, I collapse to the smooth ground. Drowsiness washes over me.

He arrives at my side, and with a struggle, he lifts me onto a soft, cushioned plane. As I sink down, my fingers run lightly over his forearms. How very odd I feel. With keen awareness of my body, I listen for the sound of my heart, but I cannot hear anything. I am so tired. The newness can be explored later.

He falls in exhaustion next to me, and he draws me close. . . closer than he and I have ever been. I still have my soul; I can feel it, wrestling around inside of me, fighting the newly born demon. I know who will win. That's my last thought as I fall asleep, dreaming of the darkness.

And I have never been happier in my life.


	4. Chapter 4

2016

"Rachel! Grab my stake!" I shout to the newest slayer as I pin the struggling vampire to the moldy concrete crypt wall.

The willowy Rachel breezes past me with her long, auburn hair flying behind her, and before I blink, a wooden stake hurls through the air and punctures the captive demon's heart. The vampire stares at me in surprise before dissipating in a cloud of dust.

"Thanks!" I call as I whirl to witness Spike being outnumbered by five other vampires in the nest.

"Welcome," Rachel returns, leaping at one of the vamps on Spike's back.

Spike sends a fist into the abdomen of one of the creatures nearest me so that he stumbles in my direction. "Buffy, love, here's one for you!"

"Oh, Spike, just what I've always wanted." I wink at the vampire dressed in tattered clothing and use his bewilderment to kick him in the face, adding a jaw fracture to his list of head injuries.

"Glad you like him, pet. I was a little worried."

I hear the faint sound of vampires exploding into oblivion as Spike and Rachel simultaneously take out their prey. Then, overlaying the reverberation of my own successful kill, a shrill beeping ring echoes from my waist. Punching a button to end the noise, I glance down at the tiny machine to see the number and read the message, "Baby. SOS."

"Time for the baby?" Spike asks, concern and the edge of excitement in his tone as he approaches me from behind.

Glaring at the remaining two vampires who stood paralyzed by the realization that they are now outnumbered, I reply to Spike, "Yep."

Rachel, Spike, and I easily overtake the two vamps. They are heading out the crypt door when I catch the slightest movement out of the corner of eye. I turn and plant my hands on my leather-covered hips impatiently. Even with my enhanced vampire vision, I can't find the source of the activity.

"C'mon out. I haven't got all day. Unlike you, I have places to go and people to see," I demand.

Rachel and Spike are moving around opposite sides of the crypt, successfully blocking the hiding demon from escaping. A small child with dirty, scraggly hair and wrinkled clothing climbs out of the tomb in the center of the room and blinks at me with wide blue eyes. My senses scream that this little girl is a vampire. I'm uncertain what to do next.

I squat to the ground, and the tiny girl, who must have been only seven or eight-years-old at the time of turning, runs to me. I can't fathom what she must have been through, and memories of my own turning rush through my brain like someone dumped a gallon of water over my head. Reaching out a hand, I caress her full cheeks, and she smiles. She is beautiful but probably only knows pain. Might I take her home with me and teach her the ways that Spike and I practice?

At that moment, the girl turns her face to my palm and shifts into game face, biting deep into my flesh. I cry out in astonishment and pain and jerk away. The girl scampers into the night with Rachel in close pursuit.

Spike pulls me close in silence and then, steps back to examine my hand with me. Blood wells to the surface of my palm and drips to the floor as I watch intrigued. As he rips a strip of cloth from his T-shirt, my pager begins to beep again. A flash of confusion washes over my face as my thoughts attempt to refocus.

Spike reaches to my waist and snaps off the pager. "Are you okay, pet?" He gazes into my face as he wraps my hand with skill that only comes with much practice at dressing wounds.

I shake my head, trying to snap out of my trance. After a brief time lag, I offer him a nod to let him know that I'm doing fine.

He kisses my forehead and whispers in reference to the girl, "You know it's for the best, right, pet?"

Not returning his affection because I'm still trying to make sense of what I'm feeling, I nod again.

A breathless Rachel appears in the doorway, hair in disarray and used stake in hand. "Are we going to the hospital?"


	5. Chapter 5

2016, fourteen hours later

Leather duster floating behind him, Spike is pacing back and forth in the windowless hospital waiting room as if *he* is the father of Dawn's child. I'm so used to his accelerated energy that I only watch in vague amusement. He loves Dawn so much, and the pregnancy has not been easy on her body. She almost had a miscarriage twice and was bleeding when her doctor ordered her on bed rest until the baby was born. I can't count the number of hours over the last two months of her pregnancy that Spike has been by her side, keeping her company while her husband, Martin, worked at the law firm.

Removing my eyes from Spike for a moment, I glance at Rachel who is fast asleep with her head heavy on her watcher's shoulder and her body limp in her grass-stained slaying outfit. She is only sixteen years old and has been slayer for a mere year and a half. I recall how I felt at her age when slaying was new and fresh and my world had yet to turn completely upside down.

Her watcher, a stocky young man named Sean, smiles at me through eyelids that are threatening to close. Although at first he was skeptical until Giles, my watcher, explained my situation to him, he has generously adjusted to Spike and my presence in Rachel's training and has joined Giles in his support of us among the Watcher's Council in England.

Rachel is from Canada and left her family in Ontario when she moved to Sunnydale. Sean owns a small house near the high school and feeds, clothes, and provides shelter to Rachel whose own family can't provide for her. He already loves her like his own daughter. I'm glad Spike and I are available to help because I don't want to see the grief in Sean's eyes if she were to die in battle.

Spike crosses in front my view of the sleepy couple and plunks down in the chair next to me with his legs and arm sprawled, shaking the whole row of attached seating. "Bloody hell. How long does this delivery thing take?" He rakes a hand through his hair and rolls an unlit cigarette between his thumb and forefinger.

"Sometimes more than twenty-four hours," I inform him, anticipating his reaction.

"Twenty four hours! We have to stay here," he points to the litter strewn carpet, "for twenty four hours? While Dawn's in there," he stabs his finger toward the delivery wing, "with doctors doing god knows what to her and the babe?"

The corners of my mouth lift despite my effort not to grin. "Yeah. Sometimes it's longer than that." I pat his thigh briefly.

"Longer?!" I notice that Rachel startles awake and almost falls out of her seat when Spike practically shouts and jumps to feet to begin pacing again.

Rachel looks at Spike and then at me. "Are you guys hungry? I can run to the butcher's and pick up some blood since it's daylight, and things might take a while."

Spike shakes his head, and I speak for both of us, "No, thank you, Rachel. We'll be fine. Spike's just. . . being nervous for all of us."

The young slayer stretches her arms and hops to her feet. Holding her hand out to Sean, she announces, "Well, I'm starved. I'm off to raid the snack machines."

"What's this?" Sean teases, gesturing at her open hand.

"Money. Now. Hungry," she explains with a playful pout. Sean hands her several one dollar bills, and Rachel grins, grabs Spike's coat pocket, and begins dragging him out of the waiting room. "You're coming with me, mister." Spike growls but accedes.

When the two are far enough down the hall to not overhear, Sean opens a conversation with me, "I spoke to the Council tonight while you were raiding the nest."

Spike knows nothing about my recent concerns regarding the Council, and I am pleased that Sean honors my wish to not get Spike involved unless absolutely necessary. "What did they say?"

"They met again on the status of your assistance with Rachel. The arguments were the same as they have been in the past. . . only this time there was greater support for eliminating Spike and moving you to England. Apparently, many of them still want to keep an eye on you," he reports grimly.

The Council learned that Spike was helping me after he attained his soul fourteen years ago. The Council members had no say at that point in my affairs because Travers, their leader, knew better than to interfere with the Giles-Buffy team. Since then, Travers died, and I was turned. Other slayers were called and killed in various parts of the world. My position among the Council became more tenuous, especially when we began interfering in their plans for Rachel. They want to regain the control over the slayer that they once had. Luckily, Giles is still a force among the Council for us in England, and Sean is now an ally although he has less influence because he is in the United States and because he is younger than I am if I were still alive.

"Well, at least they're past the having Rachel slay us phase," I comment.

Rubbing his eye with a finger, Sean chuckles sleepily and adds, "Well, Giles reminded them of the rationale for you two helping her again. He told them for the upteenth time that she would benefit and become a stronger, longer lived slayer with two vampires. . . her main prey. . . training her."

"And?"

"They reluctantly assented."

"Good." I am perfectly aware that the issue is not over.

"Hey," an exhausted masculine voice calls from the entrance to the waiting room.

We turn to view Dawn's husband holding himself up with the doorframe. Despite the dark circles under his eyes, his unshaven jaw, and the redness of his hands that look like they've been squeezed to death, he's wearing the goofiest little smile. Sean and I stand, eagerly waiting for his news.

"She's a beautiful girl. Six pounds, nine ounces. Natalia."


	6. Chapter 6

2016, the next evening

Spike slips catlike up behind me and enfolds me into his arms. Smelling of a recently smoked cigarette and of the peppermint that he's flipping around in his mouth, he lowers his head to my shoulder so that he's on level with my view of the world. I place my forearms over his, tracing circles on the backs of his hands with my fingertips.

"Knew I'd find you here, pet," he breathes into my ear.

I'm standing at the window to the maternity ward newborn room, staring at Natalia's round fair head and tuft of dark hair. Her expression is one of utter peace as she sleeps, her tiny rosebud mouth working occasionally as she dreams.

"Did you know that her eyes are blue like Dawn's when she opens them?" I ask in a low voice.

"Really?"

"Yes." I pause. "She's perfect. . . so beautiful. . . makes me just want to protect her from the horrors that she will soon experience."

"Buffy."

"Hmmm?"

"Do you sometimes regret staying here with me?"

I turn to raise my eyebrows at him. "What do you mean?" My gaze returns to the small life on the other side of the glass. "I love you. And where else would I go? You and Dawn are my whole life."

"I mean, do you sometimes regret me turning you?" he persists, rubbing my stomach.

My stomach drops as compassion floods my heart at the pain and tinge of fear in his words. Tightening my hold on his arms, I squeeze him tenderly. "No. Never."

Natalia's foot kicks out from beneath her hospital dress.

"I saw how you looked at the child vampire last night. You wanted to take her home with us."

How does he know me so well? And he never lets me get away with not admitting the truth to him and myself. "Yes."

"You know what she would have done. We don't even know how old she was. She could have been decades old."

"Are there many children who are turned into vampires?" I wonder.

Natalia opens her eyes, squinting a bit in the light of the room. I can see her pink toothless gums as she begins to cry in hunger. A nurse promptly strides across the room and gently cradles the wailing baby in her arms as she softly presents her with soothing sounds.

"Well, older vampires. . . before my time. . . used to turn three or four children. Say, one child for every ten minions."

"Why?"

"They viewed it as increasing their chances of keeping everyone fed and happy. Not many people could resist an innocent little child in need of help."

"That's terrible." I shiver at the idea of witnessing a child vampire feeding.

"Yes."

"How come they stopped doing it as much? Turning children, I mean."

"Most vampires found it to be too disturbing to have child vampires around especially after they got past a certain age. And minions who were younger vamps than the child vamps were intimidated and ended up killing many of them. Eventually, the practice of turning children to vampires dwindled," Spike explains while watching Natalia as I am.

"Oh."

The nurse is readying Natalia for a trip to see her mother. I guess that Spike and I should head upstairs to meet with Dawn during designated visiting hours.

Spike breaks away and leans against the glass window with his palms on the ledge. He holds my attention with the seriousness in his eyes. "Buffy, do you regret not being able to have a child?"

I have to tell him the truth. "Sometimes," I murmur, not able to maintain eye contact at the thought of him hurting.

In the corner of my eye, Spike bows his head. After a few minutes, he speaks, "I wish I could do something about that, pet, but I can't. You know I'd give you the world if I could."

Without hesitation, I throw myself at him, lacing my arms inside his coat and crushing him to me as a child might hug him. "Ooooh, mister. I know."

After an instant of being stunned, he kisses the top of my head and brushes his lips against mine. "I love you."

I purposefully make sure he views the truth in my face as I pull back and really look at him. "I love you, too. And if I have to give up having babies in favor of having you in my world, I'd gladly do it all over again. You *are* my world."

A door clicks open, and the nurse from the other room wheels Natalia into the corridor. She smiles when she recognizes us. "Hey, aren't you two relatives of little Natalia here?"

Returning her amicable expression, I release Spike but still grasp his hand while stepping toward the nurse. "Yes."

"Well, then. Would you like to hold her for a minute before I bring her up for a feeding?"

"Oh, yes!"

The next thing I know, I feel the tiny warm bundle squirming in my arms. Her sweetness and beauty amaze me, and I beam back at Spike whose eyes sparkle with joy in response.


	7. Chapter 7

2425

The faint ring in the back of my mind triggers my retricular activating system, and I am instantly fully conscious with any peaceful dreams swept under the rug. I dislike the implants required by the Watcher's Council that allow instant contact between and among members; however, they've only woken me from sleep once or twice, so I am less inclined to waste my energy protesting the use of such devices.

Wanting to prevent waking Spike who sleeps soundly with his body spooned around me, I deliberately and carefully remove myself from his embrace. He smiles faintly as I pause to lightly kiss his forehead and brush my hand through his soft curls. Over the centuries, he has been my rock and my deepest love. He taught me to utilize my vampire senses to my greatest advantage, and he taught and continues to teach me how rich unlife, which I now know is really just life, can be.

The ringing in my brain increases in volume, so I reluctantly stride over the plush carpet through the sliding door to the study, which is replete with bits and pieces of Spike and me. He has a taste for antiques, so the room is decorated with a richly colored rug, and our desk is strewn with compact discs of an era gone by. I can almost hear the music in my head and picture him dancing around the room when he thinks I'm not watching. I smile at the mental image as I clean away the mess and settle down at the single, plain screen in the middle of the desk.

Already irritated, I press the lone button. The machine comes to life instantaneously and picks up the signal from the miniscule device in my brain. I sigh when I recognize the person on the screen.

"What do you want in the middle of the day, Roger? You know I sleep during the day," I say, trying my best to sound put off by his intrusion. He usually leaves me alone if I let him know that he's interrupting something.

Roger is my liaison with the Watcher's Council. As the slayer who has lived the longest. . . the only one who has become a vampire and survived past the first century of unlife, I am valued as an asset to the Council. However, my relationship with the Council has varied over the centuries.

At first, they wanted to kill me and especially Spike. They deemed us too much of a risk to have running around the planet; they believed our power would be too great and would cause a war between demons and mankind. a war humans didn't stand a chance of winning if the demons were organized properly. More than one hit party was sent to capture and/or kill Spike and I. After a couple of centuries of aiding and extending the lives of several slayers, Spike and I were halfheartedly accepted as "part of the team" as Roger terms our current relationship with the Council.

"I'm sorry, Buffy, but this is a matter of some urgency," Roger explains, his face a mask of apology. He is thin wisp of a man almost paler than Spike and I. He appears to be much younger than his stated age of forty- five years even without the genetic alterations most humans undergo at his age to remove the lines, wrinkles, and blemishes of age. Yet, in contrast to his seemingly meek appearance, he is a powerful force among the Council members and will likely be promoted to Council head after the latest retires or dies. I am relieved to have him as an ally.

"Okay. So, spill it. And don't leave out any details," I command.

"Do I ever leave anything out?" Unlike the shady nature of many Council members, he doesn't hide important information. "There's been a problem with the new slayer."

"Not again." Spike and I have little to do with the new slayer who resides in what used to be called Europe while we remain in what used to be the state of California. The new slayer is only fourteen-years-old and a bit of a rebel.

"Yeah. She's apparently gotten a little out of control for the last couple of weeks. She 'fired' her Watcher. And now she's gone off on a rampage around the world. We can't seem to locate her even with the standard device in her head."

"Roger, I realize she was already not an easy girl to train and control like you'd like, but something must have triggered her recent behavior," I observe and subsequently watch Roger's expression become almost fearful.

"Well, that's just it. There's something we need your help with." I note that he is trying to peer around the study.

"What, Roger? What are you searching so hard for?"

"Is Spike around?"

"No, he's not. For some reason, I think he might be sleeping," I comment as sarcastically as possible.

Roger ignores my tone. "Good. This involves only you. You are not to tell Spike."

"Whoa, wait a minute. I tell Spike everything. And plus, we've been together for over four centuries now." Roger should be able to grasp that; after all, humans are living for a little over two hundred years now. "Let's just say, he knows me a little. How do you expect me to hide something from him?"

"Trust me; you'll want to."

"How about you tell me what's going on, and then, I'll decide what to tell or not tell Spike."

Roger frowns but continues, "Vampires killed Vanessa's family two weeks ago."

"I thought that the Council had provisions in place to prevent that from happening after the disaster with Sophie's family in 2057." Two days after Sophie was called to be a slayer, vampires slaughtered everyone in Sophie's village in an unspeakable manner. . . in a fashion more vile than anything Angelus ever did to torture his victims.

"Well, the sticky part is that Drusilla led the party that slaughtered the girl's family."

I draw a sharp breath and my fists clinch involuntarily at the mention of Spike's ex-paramour and sire. I have found that my connection with Spike has increased my dislike of the vampiress on a deeper and more primal level. "Oh."

Although we hadn't heard from Dru in a couple of centuries, Spike and I both knew that she would eventually resurface. Truth be told, I know Spike is afraid for her to make a reappearance in our lives because then, he'll have to decide whether to slay or spare her.

"Buffy." I nearly jump out of my seat at the sound of the familiar but fading English accent, and I glance up to witness a bleary-eyed Spike standing over me. Guilt washes over me, and Roger looks uncomfortable.

"Hey, sweetie," I barely find my voice. "What're you doing up?"

Paying no attention to Roger, Spike bends over and nips my neck, surrounding me with his essence and whispering, "You know I can't sleep without you there."

"We haven't been apart since I can't remember when, so how do you know?" I return the affection by pecking his lips and cheeks.

"Well, I'm not sleeping now, am I?" He offers Roger a glance and a smirk. "Private conversation, eh, pet?" Spike's never been known for trusting Watchers, so he avoids them at all costs and always covers his uncertainty around them with bravado.

"Yeah, sort of."

He strokes my hair in a manner that sets my skin alight and makes me want to run away from Roger and climb back into bed with my lover. "Was gonna fix me a mug of blood out of the food dispenser. Want some, love?"

I nod, unable to remove my eyes from his retreating back before returning my concentration to Roger. "Okay. Please finish your tale."

"As soon as Vanessa's Watcher told her who Drusilla was, she withdrew from others. her friends, her Watcher. A few days later, she was gone. No one's seen her since."

"And this interests me because?"

"Because Vanessa left a note behind." Roger pauses uncertainly.

"Boy, you are the expert at dramatic storytelling today, Rog. Please just get on with it."

"Vanessa's after all the vampires who are in the order of Aurelius," he finally states.

"Does that mean. . . ?"

"You and Spike. She's after you and Spike."

Slayer instinct takes over, and I'm all business in an instant. "Was the DNA enhancement completed before she took off?"

In this century, the art of DNA modification has been almost perfected; however, various worldwide laws and restrictions prevent the use of many of the techniques available. The Council, being the veritable underground organization, is able to access certain of the outlawed procedures and has long been genetically enhancing each slayer's strength, versatility, and intelligence a short time after she is called.

"Unfortuately, yes."

"Damn." This news means that the already especially gifted Vanessa will be nothing less than a formidable opponent.

"Buffy, we need your help to find and stop her. Slayers have been shown to have unexplainable connections with one another. Right now, Vanessa has no idea where you and Spike are. By keeping you on the move and on the search for her, we hope that she'll focus on you, and then, we can catch up to her."

"And do what after you have her?"

"Lock her up or. . ."

"Let me guess. . . or eliminate her."

Roger stares me in the eye. "Yes."

"I'll cut you a deal. I'll do what you say as long as you guarantee to merely hold and rehabilitate her. No killing. And, I will tell Spike what's going on."

Roger raises his eyebrows at me. "I can promise that we'll do everything to achieve rehabilitation with Vanessa. But, you must not tell Spike."

"Why not?"

"To keep him from doing something to endanger himself. He is rather rash at times. And to keep him away from Drusilla. His presence would only complicate things. You don't want him to get killed. Plus, we need his continued presence on the hellmouth in your sector to help keep the demons at bay while we concentrate our other resources on the problems in sector fifty-seven."

Roger is playing on my deep love for Spike and my ever-present sense of duty, but I have to concede Roger's conjectures as true. To have a rogue slayer on top of the rising demon dangers in sector fifty-seven means Council resources are stretched mighty thin. I thoughtfully chew on my bottom lip. "Okay."

"A transport ticket has been added to your profile. You just have to undergo the usual eye scan."

"When?"

"Tonight. You'll arrive in London five minutes after your transport time, so be on time," Roger becomes firm after he has my consent to go along with the Council's plan.

"All right." I snap off the screen, hanging up on Roger. My mind is a whirl of feelings, and I'm annoyed but have no idea why.

Then, strong hands begin rubbing my shoulders and neck. "So tense, pet. What's wrong? Bad news from the Wanker's Council?"

I force myself to smile and pick up a warm mug of blood from the desktop. "No bad news. Just the usual." I take a large swallow of the life-enriching fluid to cover my lie. Despite my best efforts, I can tell Spike knows I'm not telling the whole truth. Roger never calls in the middle of the day unless he has important news.

Spike decides to overlook the truth, managing to pick me up and slide beneath me to hold me on his lap in the chair. He takes a sip out of his own glass before setting the blood aside and pulling my nightgown over my head with slightly more urgency than usual. I slowly turn to straddle and wrap my legs around him. Groaning at the kisses he tickles across my bare stomach, I vow to cherish this moment more than he will ever know.


	8. Chapter 8

2425, the next evening

I rush through the transport terminal because my reservation is only a handful of minutes away. I almost stumble over a man resting on the ground and knock shoulders with several people in my hurry.

The transport terminal is the epitome of twenty-fifth century travel. A terminal is located in every city with over one thousand people worldwide. Millions of people travel via the transports every day, and the most interesting aspect of the system of travel is that it is totally free and supported by the world government. To travel, all one has to do is make a reservation, and one can be at one's destination within the hour. Having extra hours before a transport is rare and an almost impossible luxury. Apparently, the Council pulled some strings to give me several hours prior to my departure.

That can only mean one thing.

The Council knows that finding the rogue slayer is going to take a long time. I try not to think about the amount of time I'll be apart from Spike.

Slinging my small bag, which is packed with a few sets of clothing and a small cache of slaying supplies, onto the baggage store, I lean forward to get my eye scanned.

The computer network reads the device in my brain, which contains my identification and my transport reservation. "Buffy Summers," the computer voice softly intones, "you may proceed."

The frightening aspect of travel in this fashion is that vampires and other demons who died after having the brain device implanted are still able to pass through the security system at the transport terminals without leaving a trail. Of course, I received the device after death through Council influence. After much convincing by me and grumbling about "sodding government brain manipulators," Spike agreed to have one implanted as well. The closing argument was that without one, he could not travel with me.

Long hair streaming after me, I run to wait by the door of my transport room until the time is exactly 1705. The door to my room slides open with a quiet ding, and I hurriedly seat myself on the tiny chair in the center of the room. Pulling my pocket journal out of the pocket of my standard transport jumper, I decide I have just enough time to re-read the note I left Spike.

Closing my eyes, I conjure an image of him, awakening from peaceful dreams and slipping through the rooms of our compound in search of me. I wonder if he will sense my absence as soon as he wakes. I know I already notice a difference in myself without him by my side. Somehow, I feel half-empty. . . as if a bit of my soul is missing.

I picture him slumped at the bar in the kitchen nook, reading and re- reading the note I left in his personal journal with tears and lines of concern painted on his face. Half of me worries that I will have broken him for the final time and that he will walk into the sunlight without me. The other half of me worries that he will search the ends of the earth to find me and will end up getting killed by Drusilla or Vanessa. I silently pray that he is able to wait for me no matter how long my mission takes.

Re-opening my eyes, I touch my personal journal, and the machine comes to life. The note I left Spike fills the screen automatically, and I read the words aloud to make them more tangible in my mind because I'm still not certain if what is happening is real.

"My dearest love,

I know you won't understand when you receive this letter, but I am asking you to please trust me. I have to leave for a little while. If I tell you where I'm going and why, I'm afraid that you will come after me. To come after me would place you in a dangerous situation. . . in the path of a formidable force from which I can't protect you. I couldn't bear losing you, so I must leave you without much information.

As you probably guessed, the Wanker's Council (as you love to term them) is part of this mess, and they have recruited me to dig them out of the hole they've gotten themselves stuck in. They need you to stay in the area to control the hellmouth while they extend their other resources to sector fifty-seven. I am being sent on a special mission that requires my silence. I don't have any idea how long I'll be gone.

Please know that I miss you terribly already, and I love you always. I beg of you, do not come after me, and I'll be home sooner than you think.

Buffy"

The transport door slides back, and Roger is in the doorway to greet me. Only then do I notice how wet my cheeks are from the tears streaming down my face.


	9. Chapter 9

2427

"Stop!" a feminine, heavily-accented voice cries out in the international language over the crowd in the airport. "Buffy Summers, stop where you are!"

Come on. Where is it, where is it, where is it? I tap my foot, play with the ends of my cropped blonde hair, and glance around nervously, my eyes scanning the people around me for the source of the shouts directed at me. Luckily, the international transport had been full, so a dense throng surrounds me, waiting for their eyes to be scanned for identification purposes and for their bags, buying me some time.

Noticing the group rippling to my right, I know my time is dwindling to nothing. At that moment, I spot my bag being transported onto the platform by the particle beams. Snatching the small tote up almost before it materializes completely, I duck past people to avoid the exit eye scan; otherwise, I'll be caught more quickly.

Racing through the transport terminal and thanking the powers that be it is nighttime, I search for any sort of hover vehicle that I can use to lead Vanessa into a less populated area.

Spying a young woman entering her obviously rented vehicle at the curb in front of the terminal, I shove her out of my path and leap into the control seat.

"Hey!" I hear her shout. "That's mine!"

"Sorry," I call out behind me as I start the forward moving system and rise into the air. Fingers dancing over the navigation keyboard, I enter a set of location coordinates, forwarding a copy to the Council's main network.

I glimpse Vanessa's lean form emerging from the terminal and pause to make certain that she sees me. When her eyes land on me, I release the brake and jerk forward, guiding my quarry to an area the Council managed to find for me.

Once I've set the vehicle in motion, the onboard computer does the rest of the work, giving my brain time to recuperate and plan.

The Council has had me on this mission for two years. Vanessa remained hidden for the first year and a half. No signs of her presence were detected by the myriad of identification stops around the world. The Council had me check out several bogus tips received by their agents. None of them panned out until Vanessa herself wanted to be located.

Six months ago, she sent an encrypted message through Council communication channels, announcing that she had found and slain Drusilla and her minion horde. Now she is turning her attention to other prey. . . me.

I took the news of Drusilla's demise with mixed emotions. Part of me remains glad that Dru is dust, but the other part of me aches because I know how much Spike will hurt when he hears the news. . . the way I hurt when Angel died over two hundred years ago.

And somehow, I *know* without a doubt that Spike has received the news about Drusilla. The Council has not told him, but Spike has his resources. He knows.

I regret not being there for him.

Though two years may not seem to be a long time in the course of four hundred years, I have never felt more alone. Each night, I achieve only a minimal amount of sleep, and I cannot count the number of pounds that have melted off my body. And if I am feeling this way with my knowledge of the truth of my situation, I can only imagine how Spike must be feeling.

A sharp crunch resounds in the air, and my vehicle jerks from the original path, almost hitting a nearby speeder. I pull the computer system offline and take manual control of my course.

My pursuer's stolen vehicle flies next to mine, and I catch a flash of Vanessa's reddish hair through the window. She rams sideways into me, and the flexible door bends and snaps back in place easily, so she switches tactics, forcing her vehicle up and over mine. Slamming down on top of me, she shatters the glass on my fore-window. The aftershocks of the blow reverberate through my bones, and the vehicle's computer is damaged, sending sparks into my face.

Time to force a manual landing. I focus my eyes outside the side window and espy a fairly deserted park a few yards away.

Perfect.

Making sure my weapons cache is firmly hooked over my shoulder, I pilot the wobbling machine toward the ground, carefully avoiding any cross air traffic. Several seconds later, I land with a bump similar to an old airplane landing. I whip off my body strap and push open the top of the vehicle, hopping lightly to my feet.

Vanessa has landed not far away, and I have seconds before I am engaged in the fight of my unlife. I shove a muscle paralyzer up my sleeve and pocket a sedative deliverer.

Crouching in a defensive position, I wait for Vanessa to engage me. I want to observe her fighting strategies before I attack. Through endless hours of training with Spike, I am now an expert at discerning the weaknesses of my opponents. While Vanessa has the advantage of power, I have the advantage of years of experience.

The upcoming fight does not intimidate me, but I am not a fool either. Vanessa is no pushover. She approaches battle the way I used to. . . without trepidation. After years of learning to survive and use all my feelings to the greatest advantage, I've learned to harness my anxiety and fear to give me an edge in a battle. Spike assures me acceptance of my feelings is better than ignoring or denying them.

"So, you must be Vanessa," I say, issuing the first communication.

The rogue slayer smirks at me, her features hardened. She does not appear to be only fourteen with her thatch of red hair streaked with burgundy and green. Her eyes flash steel grey when they meet my hazel ones. "And you must be Buffy. You know why I'm after you?"

I try to empathize first. "I understand, Vanessa, what you're going through. Vampires have done despicable things to my family as well." Images of Angelus and his rampage through my life flow into my conscious memory for the first time in years.

Vanessa begins to circle me, power pouring off of her body in waves, and for the first time, I feel strangely like a hunted animal. . . like the vampires I stalked and killed as a human slayer. "You could never understand. You're one of them. . . one of Drusilla's family."

"And I used to be a slayer," I remind her, trying to present myself as more human in her view, "Whose family and friends were tortured and murdered by Angelus."

"He was famous for harming members of his own. Doesn't mean they were innocents." Vanessa's knuckles noticeably whiten as she tightens the grip on her stake. I can feel her getting ready to pounce, so I ready myself for deflecting her attack.

A memory of Angel standing in my kitchen wearing an uncomfortable, pained expression issues forth. "Drusilla was psychologically tortured prior to being turned by Angelus. He killed her family and made her believe that she was evil and sinful. He took everything from her and drove her insane, and when she entered the convent to protect herself, he turned her."

"Doesn't matter. She's still soulless. She still killed my family."

I switch tactics. "Don't let what Drusilla did to your family destroy you, too. I'm here to help you. I know how hard it is to be a slayer."

Vanessa's face melts for a moment but then, resumes its armor. "Don't try to distract me. The world will be a better place when it's free of all demons. . . starting with all members of Drusilla's family."

Before I can reply, she launches herself at me. I anticipate her attack and block her initial flying kick easily.

"You'll have to do better than that, Vanessa."

Her arm swings out a well-timed punch that connects with my abdomen, throwing me back. If I had been human, I would have had the wind knocked out of me. "How's that?"

"Hmmm. Well, it leaves your left side wide open," I note, grasping her left arm and flipping her onto her back.

She kicks out as she falls, sweeping my legs out from under me. "Which I can use to my advantage."

I can tell she still hasn't taken me seriously. Obviously, she doesn't know Buffy Summers.

Rolling over the soft, genetically engineered grass, I land on my feet and whirl to face her as she hurls herself at me. Using her inertia against her, I send her tumbling over my shoulder to the ground. She grunts as her body connects with the unmoving surface, and before she knows what's happening, I am upon her, pinning her down.

"Vanessa, we just want to help you," I assert.

Breathing heavily, she grins. "Who's 'we'? The Council? They're a bunch of idiots who don't know what being a slayer is all about."

I have to agree with her on that point. "Well, even if the Council has ulterior motives, I don't, and I want to help you."

"I don't think so." In a characteristic slayer move, she wraps her legs around my ribcage and uses me to propel herself over my head to land behind me.

For several minutes, words and logic are lost in the fast-paced ballet of exchanged kicks, punches, dance steps, and acrobatics. For the first time since I've been a vampire, I am truly fighting, not just sparring, with a slayer, and I note with irony that I now understand exactly what Spike meant when he said that all we ever did was dance.

Loneliness shoots through my muscles, and I experience a momentary longing for Spike's presence.

Vanessa uses my lapse to her advantage and manages to pin me against a nearby tree trunk, which is more synthetic than actual wood, so I am not afraid of being staked on a stray branch. However, Vanessa jams what I am sure is a stake made of pure wood grain between my ribs, almost but not quite puncturing my flesh.

Sweat dripping off the young slayer's forehead, and her chest is slightly heaving. Her unidentifiable accent is thicker when she is tired. "So, I've got you now. I've defeated the legendary Buffy Summers."

Without warning, a lithe form clothed in a replica of the black leather duster he wore so many years ago crashes into Vanessa's left side, and the stake in her hand spins through the air. I pick the wooden instrument out of the air with a renewed ease and turn my attention back to. . .

Spike! My Spike is here!


	10. Chapter 10

2427, a few seconds later

Stunned into inaction, I remain motionless with my mouth gaping wide. My lover moves with the grace of a lion and drives Vanessa across the park and away from me. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that several speeders and air vehicles are now parked near my smoking one, and a small cluster of people press together, watching Spike and Vanessa's well-matched mêlée.

Their presence frightens me into action, and I palm my muscle paralyzer and rush toward the fray, hoping to end the conflict quickly before we draw attention that is not welcome. Knowing Spike's body language almost as well as I know myself, I detect every nuance without him saying a word, so when he stiffens at my nearness, I shiver in the fear of what is to come between us.

The battle pauses as three warriors contemplate their situation.

For her part, Vanessa's face is coated in the mask of an animal that knows she has nowhere to turn. Already tired from the battle with me, she is not ready for a fresh fight. "So, now I can kill two birds with one stone. . . end my pain in one evening."

She covers well but not well enough.

With a bitterness I have grown accustomed to not hearing from my lover's lips, Spike growls, "Slayer, you don't know whom you're dealing with here. I intend to make you my fourth."

My heart plunges at his words that cheapen the connection we shared so many years ago. He meant the words to frighten Vanessa but also hurt me as well. Trying to numb the sting of what he said, I remind myself that he only hurts me because he is hurting, too. However, the tinge of our past abusive relationship nags at the back of my thoughts. I file the doubts away for analysis after he and I are safe once more.

Similarly, Spike manages to push Vanessa's buttons past her level of tolerance, and she lunges at him with a battle knife raised. Spike merely reaches out his hand, grabs her wrist, and twists. The tissues in Vanessa's forearm emit a horrible tearing noise, and her face drains of vital color. She remains eerily silent and rips herself away, staggering back with her fingers still curled around the handle of the sharp blade.

As I watch dumbfounded, the crumpled waste of her arm begins to knit itself together again until her grip is once again fierce.

She sneers at my shock. "Guess they've improved the genetic technology a bit since the last slayer you've encountered, eh, Buff?"

In the instant Vanessa focuses her attention on me, Spike attempts to grab her by the shoulders. She anticipates his move, and kicks back at him, connecting her heel with his chin with a sharp crunch, sending him falling into a heap. "Won't work, pretty boy."

Gripping my metal weapon, I rush the rogue slayer, pressing her back to fall over Spike's prone body. Her damaged arm is weaker than earlier in our fight, and she drops the knife to break her own descent. I flow with her motion and press the paralyzer to her neck at full power, hoping the shock will disable her. Her body jolts and twitches as the electricity pours into her muscles and spinal cord.

Then, she stills.

Slowly and cautiously, I remove the weapon and collapse in exhaustion atop her hesitating chest. Her breathing is shallow, and her heartbeat sounds fainter than when I first encountered her. I remind myself that she is just a child. . . a child who has seen too much. Tears escape the corners of my eyes in mourning for her lost innocence.

Trembling, I rise to my hands and knees, wincing at the scrapes on my raw calves as I crawl toward Spike's unmoving form. The sharp scent of blood perfumes my senses, but I can't tell if the source is Spike or myself. Before I can touch his arm, a heavy form crushes into my body. I grunt in pain as one of my ribs breaks from the impact.

Vaguely, I feel the muscle paralyzer shove against my neck. The paralyzer doesn't work as well on a vampire, so I can't move but can witness Vanessa's face in mine. Her grin is maniacal, and her strange silence scares me half to death. I've never encountered a slayer so strong nor so insane with grief. . . except maybe Faith.

Dragging Spike into my field of vision where I lay upon the dirt, she brandishes another stake. Suddenly, the truth of what she is about to do dawns on me.

She is going to stake Spike in front of me. . . *make* me understand the depth of her sorrow. She doesn't realize that I already *know* how deeply carved her hurt goes.

Wincing at the warnings telegraphed by my wounds, I attempt to do everything I can to move. . . somehow move and stop Vanessa. . . to no avail.

Forcing my face to be a blank mask as Vanessa sits atop Spike's ribs and positions the stake against the flesh covering his unbeating heart, my ears are spectators to a distinct laugh and hoarse, bitter voice, "You can't fool me, Buffy Summers, childe of William the Bloody. I know you; I see you. And now you will feel as I do because I'm taking the last thing you have on this earth. . . as your grandmother did me."

My vocal cords are helpless to respond, so I plead with my eyes.

She watches me as she places her palm on the end of the wood, drawing out the moment as long as possible. When she brings her hand down hard, I squeeze my lids shut and will myself to be deaf, trying to block out the sight and sound of my lover turning to dust.

Instead, I hear a brittle cry issue from Vanessa and a familiar roar from. . . Spike! My eyes are instantly open, and I see Spike in full vampire face. He uses the element of uncertainty that Vanessa displays to pull her body close to his and tear into her throat. The sounds of greedy drinking permeate the air. Vanessa pushes vainly against his chest as I once had, but this time, my lover is not gentle. . . is not loving. He manages to hold a small container to the fount of blood pumping out of her system.

Within seconds, she is dead.

Not looking at my face, Spike is at my side, and he gathers me into his lap. Staggering to his feet, he hefts my form and limps hurriedly toward the crowd of gawkers, shoving through their ranks to an unfamiliar vehicle. No one attempts to stop him because he still wears his game face, and his mouth is set in a straight, grim line.

Once we are in the air, he turns to me. Not sure what to expect, I eye him carefully. My heart breaks when his gaze is distant and cool. My body is tingling all over as the feeling in my limbs and my ability to move voluntarily slowly returns. I almost flinch when he brings something to my lips. . . .

Blood. . . slayer blood.

I glare and attempt to turn my head away in rejection. How dare he feed me slayer blood?!

Roughly, he smears some of the coppery liquid on my tightly closed mouth, and then, my demon momentarily takes over. Once I lick my lips the first time, I am overwhelmed by a such a feeling of excitement and inebriation that I overcome the effect of the paralyzer and lift my head to receive the rest of the powerful blood that he has saved for me.

Then, I hear the soft hiss of a medical inserter. My muscles relax, and before I can protest what is happening, I am asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

2427, approximately twenty-four hours later

Burrowed in a warm bed, I wake to an unfamiliar room cloaked in darkness. My muscles ache as my limbs begin to move, and a sharp pain issues from my side. I forgot about the broken rib. I stretch my senses to scan my environment, but I detect no one else with me. Where has Spike gone?

A sharp, impatient rap on the door reminds my mind why I woke in the first place. Someone is at the door, someone human.

My toes surround themselves in the embrace of the soft, thick carpet as I silently creep to the door and push the one-way vision button on the computer panel to my right. The door instantly becomes translucent, and I recognize Roger shifting awkwardly from foot to foot in the empty hall.

"Come in," I whisper as my vocal chords have somehow lost their ability to project.

The door disappears, and Roger nearly jumps ten feet in the air. "Oh!"

As my eyes adjust to the well-lit corridor, I blink rapidly up at the man before me. I note the lines on his brow and the frown on his face. He brushes past me into what I now recognize as one of the many hotel standards found all over the world. The door reappears solidly behind him.

I have never seen Roger so frantic that he's shaking. He leans on the small beverage bar to steady himself.

Gesturing to the jumble of unmade sheets and blankets, I suggest, "Why don't you sit down, Roger, and tell me what's got you so upset."

Roger doesn't appear to be hearing me. "Do you *know* what the Council. . . what *I've* had to do to deal with what you and Spike have done?"

I feel a momentary flash of guilt and fear as my memories of Spike killing Vanessa return full force. "Oh."

A glare mars his normally placid expression. "No? Well, let me tell you! The public and the free press are having a field day! Someone at the park spread the vid micro to all the computer stations and all the news broadcasts around the world. They've somehow connected the incident with the Council, and the international defense committee wants to meet with several Council members to discuss the new 'monstrous threat against earth.'"

I can't help myself. The hilarity of what Roger just said tickles my funny bone. The *new monstrous threat against earth*. . . what is that about? The ignorance the general public remained in about the presence of vampires and demons among us never ceases to surprise me. . . even after centuries. Laughter spills past my lips, and I gasp as barbs of pain shoot through my ribcage from the slowly mending rib.

"I don't think you understand the implications of what this means, Miss Summers."

I raise an eyebrow at him. Roger's called me by my first name since I first met him. The new formality means I need to take him seriously. "No, you obviously think I don't. Why don't you explain it to me."

"I will. Where's Spike?"

"Not here, obviously."

"Well, you need to find him. The Council has ordered you and him to be put to death."

"Why?" I am startled by his revelation. I expected some sort of consequence but not death.

"I know. I tried to stop it, but the Council was virtually unanimous. They want 'the menace stopped' before they meet with the international government. I suppose they're looking out for their own hides," Roger says frankly.

I nod. He makes sense. "And you're here because. . . ?"

He bows his head. "Because I care about you two. . . well, you. When the Council sent you on the mission after Vanessa, I didn't intend for this to happen." He raises his eyes at me. "I'm here to make sure you get to safety before the vampire hunt begins. I couldn't very well tell you this over communica lines without risking myself. I'm already taking a big risk by approaching you in person."

I touch his forearm gently to show that I appreciate his assistance. "How did you find me here?"

He grins ruefully. "Demon underground. I may never have been in the field extensively, but I do know a thing or two about demons."

"And how did you travel without being found out?"

Roger slings a bag off his shoulder onto the bed, unzipping the pack and revealing its contents. . . bits of computer parts and technology that I don't recognize. "I have my ways as Watcher."

"What's all this?"

"Identification for you and Spike. New identities." He hands me a computer micro. "And, a new place to live."

I am bewildered by his kindness. "W-where, h-how, w-why?" I stumble over my words, making me think briefly of Xander from long ago.

"Don't question. Just take," he encourages, forcing the machinery into my open palm. "I am honored to have worked with the famed Buffy Summers."

* * *

2427, three and a half hours later

I know where I to find Spike. The doors to the public memorial disappear before me as I stride purposefully into the facility that is open twenty-four hours per day. My stomach twirls with butterflies as I approach the human receptionist. Human staff are rare but occasionally still work in under-funded, usually public owned services. Memorial centers are definitely short of monetary supplements.

She offers me a brilliant but genuine smile. "Good day, Miss. . . Waters. May I help you?"

I resist the urge to sigh in relief. I give her Spike's codename, "Yes. I am looking for William Johnson."

The micro in her head runs smoothly for a few seconds as her eyes cloud over. When she refocuses, she nods. "He's in 457. Take the travel pad to the fourth floor and take a right once you're there."

"Thanks."

I hurry to the travel pad and am instantly on the fourth floor. Once there, I hesitate. I am not *afraid* to see Spike, but I must admit after our earlier interactions, I am more than a little nervous. I hadn't seen Spike for two years until yesterday. Thus far, I have been able to block the memories from a day ago. The events seem like they occurred one hundred years ago in my mind. As I bring them forth into my conscious thoughts, the memories are enhanced by the implant in my brain.

*"Slayer, you don't know whom you're dealing with here. I intend to make you my fourth." Golden eyes glint in the darkness.

Kicking, punching, whirling,. . . dancing.

Time stops.

The raw pain in Vanessa's expression stabs into my abdomen. A stake covers Spike's heart. "You can't fool me, Buffy Summers, childe of William the Bloody. I know you; I see you. And now you will feel as I do because I'm taking the last thing you have on this earth. . . as your grandmother did me."

A roar fills my head, and suddenly, I see, hear, feel, taste blood. . . Vanessa's blood.*

I am at door 457. If I were still alive, my heart would be pounding. Settling for bodily trembling, I press the button to signal my presence.

The door immediately disappears, and Spike stands before me. Grief paints his expression, and worry fills his eyes over tear-stained cheeks. With his temper gone and some time alone, his anger at me has dissipated. Now, he is worried that I will reject him as I have in the past. . . in days so faded that I have difficulty recalling them. I remind myself that those memories are more vivid for him than me because I succeeded in blocking them out as much as I could at the time.

I don't hesitate, and he lets out a small sob when I fold my arms around his lean frame. "Shhhhh," I whisper, letting my own tears fall. I stroke his back soothingly as he buries his head in my neck.

He holds me as close as possible and then, lifts me by my hips. I wrap my legs around him, and he moves to the armchair in the center of the room. The door reappears and seals behind us, and I briefly note that he has pulled up Dawn's memorial to view today.

Silently, he rocks us back and forth until we both feel calm and emotionally worn.

"I love you," I whisper first before he can say anything else.

His voice is soft against my eardrums, "Even after what I did to save us? Even after I forced you to drink her blood? You know I did that to help you heal more quickly. You'd lost a lot of blood."

I snuggle my head closer to his chest, "Yes, even after. And, yes, I know."

As I feel some of the tension melt out of his shoulders, he begins caressing my shoulder blade and my hip. "I love you, too."

The room is quiet.

Then, Spike murmurs, "My fangs were the only weapon I had left that I knew would defeat her. I know I acted rashly."

In the back of my mind, I remember why the Council wanted to leave Spike out of the hunt for Vanessa. . . his propensity for acting without thought. "I know. It's okay. I'm not angry with you. I'm not going anywhere." In the past, I might have turned my back on him without another word, but too much had passed between us in four centuries. A fresh wave of the deep aloneness I felt over the last two years encompasses me, and I squeeze him tightly.

"Why *did* you leave me?" he wonders, hurt filling his tone.

"The Council wanted me to leave you out of it," I suggest.

He pulls back sharply, searching my green eyes for the truth. I quiver at being under his gaze for the first time. "No, that's not it. Buffy Summers doesn't listen to what the Council says. She never has."

Defeated, I close my eyes. He always knows.

"Well?" he urgently presses. "Why did you leave me?"

"B-because I didn't want you to get hurt. Drusilla killed Vanessa's family." I peer at him cautiously when I mention his ex-lover's name. He doesn't even flinch. "Vanessa wanted revenge."

"I already know that Dru's dead," Spike acknowledges before I can tell him.

"I'm sorry."

He kisses my forehead. "Don't worry. I'm okay. She and I were a long time ago."

"But it still hurts," I insist, making him look at me this time.

"Yeah. It does."

I pause. "I was afraid you'd kill Vanessa out of grief. . . or that you would act rashly and get yourself killed. And if you died,. . . you're all I have left in this world."

With his thumbs, Spike wipes away the fresh tears that roll down my already damp cheeks. "I know." Firmly, he adds, "Don't do it again. I won't be apart from you that long."

I manage to present him a small smile. "Aye, commander. Trust me, I've learned my lesson. Me sleep not without you. . . literally. Hey, how *did* you find me?"

He winks. "The demon world, where else? You don't honestly think the Wanker's Council told me, do you?"

"How long did you stay working on the Hellmouth?" I want to know everything.

Looking sheepish, he mutters, "About six hours."

"*Six* hours?! Okay, I now know who doesn't listen to me."

"Hey, I did go to the bloody Council first. Course, they told me nothing. So, I started my own investigation. Took a bit to worm my way back into the demon underworld and gain enough trust to get the info I needed on you."

I lift both eyebrows at him. "And, what exactly did you have to do to gain their *trust* back?"

When he laughs, my heart sings. "Not much. Don't worry, I didn't do anything you or I wouldn't approve of." At my glare, he shrugs and continues, "Just knocked a few heads around. Killed a few demon pests for a few other demons who supposedly had the information but didn't. Well, when I found out their lie, they were dead, which in turn helped this local vamp who. . . "

Now I'm laughing. I push his chest with my palm. "Okay, okay. I get the picture. It was complicated, and you killed a few demons."

"A few?"

"A *lot* of demons," I amend.

"Ah, pet, I missed you." The familiar twinkle has returned to the blueness of his eyes.

"Say that again."

"Say what again, love?"

I kiss his cheeks and his eyelids. "Call me by my nicknames. I actually missed th. . ."

My words are cut off when his mouth melts into mine, and I am instantly lost in the oblivion of our love as he murmurs my pet names over and over against my skin. His hands rove over my body with fresh tenderness, and I touch him in all the places I've missed the most.

An immeasurable amount of time later, he moves away again much to my chagrin. "Pet, what's with the 'Cynthia Waters' name?"

At his reminder of the reality of our situation, I sigh reluctantly. He must have read my new name off the door panel before I entered. "That is a long story."


	12. Chapter 12

2675

The underground tunnels are pitch black as I race through them, splashing a bit in the musty-smelling water dripping from the old pipes above, which are connected to the homes of only the poorest human beings. Although the two vampires behind me are not breathless due to lack of need for air, my slayer endurance gives me an edge, and they are barely keeping up with me. I have to force myself to move more slowly or else lose them in the labyrinth we're weaving through. Losing two more vampires would not be good.

I hear and smell the rustle of life ahead of me even if I can't make out any figures yet. Halting abruptly, I attempt to obtain a firmer sense of my target's exact location. Promptly, one of the two vampires following me crashes into me, sending me to the concrete to scrape my shins and forearms.

On my feet in an instant, I send my companions a warning growl and a golden glower. "Watch it." If not the noise, the smell of fresh blood from the cuts on my limbs may alert the target, and the possibility angers me. In fact, not much of what the vampires with whom I associate *doesn't* anger me.

The offending vampire appears appropriately abashed, "Sorry, Cyn."

I try to hide the involuntary cringe I always had at my unfortunate nickname. "It's okay. Just please stick close and keep quiet." I dislike taking the other vampires with me, preferring Spike as my companion. However, in the interest of our relationship with the other vampires, I routinely allow one or two to join me on a raid, leaving Spike behind.

They nod in the darkness. Resuming my trajectory, I meander through the tunnels toward the prey I am seeking. In a matter of minutes, I am on top of the stray vampire and tackle him into the concrete wall, sending his package flying. My eager companions pursue the carefully wrapped, rather large parcel while I palm my stake and stab the wood through the traveling vampire's heart.

Regrouping with the others and running my fingers through my hair, I peer at the package they carry between them. The mark of Joyger is stamped across the binding material, and I sigh with relief. Not one of ours. . . or rather, not one of Nabald's.

* * *

2675, a few hours later

Far above what is traditionally earth ground, in the shadow of windowless rooms, my two vampire companions and I enter the main arena of the nest. As we approach Nabald, Spike winks at me from the seat next to the leader of the Nab vampires. Other than his hair being darker than ebony, he does not look physically different than two hundred years ago. No longer wearing what he fondly calls his "traditional black," he has donned the cloak of scarlet synthetic leather that is representative of Nabald's nest.

In stark contrast to Spike, Nabald is a stocky vampire who was likely turned in his mid-fifties sometime during the era of the Renaissance and who is therefore older than Spike. His demeanor reflects the power of his age, and in private, Spike respects him although he disagrees with some of his actions.

Nabald's grey eyes hold my green ones. "Cynthia. What have you brought today?"

The two other vampires cower behind me, still handling the captured box, and I inwardly shake my head at their lack of bravery. Returning Nabald's steady gaze, I shine with my usual confidence, announcing, "We have blood, Nabald." I gesture to the rare treasure.

Blood has been scarce since the Watcher's Council and the Slayers have driven the demons into the underground. Most vampires are clustered in the dark pockets of what used to be the sewers. Although many factions have formed, the two main nests are Joyger and Nabald's, and only theirs remain in housing in the towers above ground. As such, a bitter rivalry over the limited blood supply has led to an extensive feud that has lasted the last several decades.

Both groups hover in the western hemisphere as near to the current Hellmouth as possible without chancing an encounter with the Slayer and her team of other warriors. Part of me is proud that the Watchers have finally acknowledged that a Slayer needs companions-after how many centuries?-and part of me is concerned that I will encounter the so far unstoppable team of warrior, witches, and demon hunters.

"Ahhh. Good. Who did you intercept it from today, Cynthia?" Nabald's eyes travel over the package hungrily.

"Joyger." I force my voice to sound proud. Presenting blood from Joyger's gophers is more prestigious than blood from a lesser faction. Nabald felt he was sending Joyger a warning message when we attained food from one of his nest.

"Wonderful! Bring it forth."

The two vampires stumble forward in their nervousness and settle the box to rest near Nabald's feet. As the vampire leader waits, Spike steps up and begins to tear open the outer wrappings, revealing pouch after pouch of fresh blood, still cold from their original storage. Ripping the top of one package, Spike ceremoniously hands Nabald the container. Nabald's face shifts as he inhales the scent of the coppery fluid, and he rapidly gulps down the liquid, draining the container in seconds.

Nabald nods, signaling to the others to grab pouches of their own. Vampires pour out of a multitude of hiding places in the darkness, scrambling in a half-starved manner for a piece of the prize. Before they reach the stash, Spike scoops up two and hands me one, caressing my elbow with tender familiarity. Unafraid to show my affection for him, I kiss his cheek and then his lips in thanks.

My lover grins at me, and our faces shift into vampire masks at the same time. I watch with fascination, never ceasing to be awed by the transformation. Bones grind unnaturally against one another in cheeks and forehead, moving and altering muscle and ligaments, in a way that would cause excruciating pain to a human being. Eyesight and sense of smell become intensely acute, and hunger becomes a sharply enhanced pain in my belly. If I am around Spike in the time of change, I am completely absorbed by the power of his essence. . . as he is mine. No words, no physical contact needs to occur because we are one in that moment.

"Get a room," a vampiress in the room mutters underneath her breath. She means to speak softly, but we hear every syllable.

Spike's head shoots up, and he glares her direction. The caustic vampiress backs away, head bowing. She's only a couple of decades old, but she is a bit impudent at times. Her hand clenches her sack of blood in fear that her dinner might be taken away.

Nabald chuckles in amusement at the scene. He approaches the vampires, stroking her long dark hair. "Lydia, calm yourself. They've done nothing offensive."

Lydia hisses, "I can smell their desire from here; it offends me while I'm eating dinner."

Spike tenses beside me, so I lace my fingers with his in an effort to calm him. We are new to Nabald's group, and we don't need to make waves just yet. The vampiress is simply jealous that we've risen so far in Nabald's esteem so quickly.

Attempting to appear subservient but firm, I declare, "We'll retire for dinner. I'm quite exhausted anyway."

Nabald agrees, "That's fine. Good work, Cynthia."

Spike can't resist and nuzzles my neck as we pass Lydia on the way to our designated rooms. Lydia fumes, and I pinch Spike's arm firmly. As usual, he pinches back.


	13. Chapter 13

2675, approximately two hours later

Tracing my fingertips over Spike's bare torso, I lay in our bed with my head on his chest. His deep rumble of contentment echoes in my ear, and I feel him lazily trailing his fingers through my hair. Full of blood and sated on my lover, I sigh with happiness.

"You know, Buffy," he whispers, holding up and examining a lock of my hair in the dim lights. Foregoing all pet names, he only calls me Buffy in private. "I'm glad your locks are long, but I miss the blond."

Keeping my head in the same location, I roll over to face him with a smile lighting my face. "What? Don't like the red?"

"Well, I guess it's okay. It reminds me a bit of Red." He smirks.

I punch his arm in mock anger; I know he found Willow attractive at one point. Then, my face sobers. "I still miss Willow sometimes."

"I know, Buffy, I know. I do, too."

"She was the truest friend I've ever known. She and Xander."

Spike says nothing and merely listens; he's heard all of this before and knows he can say nothing to make me less lonely for my long-dead human friends. Willow had actually lived a couple of centuries because of the magic that infiltrated her very being, making her a little less mortal. Although she dated here and there, she never again found another lover quite like Tara. Xander eventually married when he was forty-years-old and had two daughters and a son. He died at age seventy-six while working on the site of his latest building construction.

"And Dawn," Spike adds with sadness in his tone.

"Yeah."

Dawn. . . sweet, precious Dawnie, an ex-mystical key endowed with latent anti-aging powers, outlived Willow and the children she had with her husband. She kept Spike and I company for three centuries before passing on after a fight with a Turg'sh demon who invaded the herb shop she owned in Sunnydale.

We remain silent for several minutes lost in our own thoughts. Flooded with memories of the past, I slowly begin to drift asleep. Spike's voice breaks through the haze of half-sleep.

"Buff. . . need. . . sure of. . . ."

"Hmmmm," I return.

Strong hands gently shake my shoulders. My eyes fly open.

"I'm awake. I'm listening," I say drowsily.

He bends forward and overcomes my mouth with his, sending shivers through my muscles. When I start to return the kiss with equal ardor, he leans back, ending our connection.

"Hey! Cheater," I tease and watch as the briefest hint of a time gone before flickers of pain wash over his face. He hides the emotion quickly, but I still want to make up for the pain I caused him when I was human. I pull the full length of my body onto him and murmur, "I love you very much. . . even if your name is Henderson."

At the mention of the awful name Roger picked for him a couple of centuries ago, he flips me onto my back in the tangle of sheets and tickles me until my ribs hurt. Then, he kisses my nose before standing from the bed and pushing the button on the slim wristband he always wears. Instantaneously, he is fully clothed in his usual outfit with his black hair slicked back and his body refreshingly clean and smelling of a light musk. I reluctantly imitate Spike's actions, and in seconds, I am clean and refreshed, and the bed is made.

Moving to the other side of the room, we sit at the table across from one another, and Spike places his wrist lightly over mine, so the devices we wear are touching. A small change in our minds, and we are connected. . . able to talk with each other in complete privacy.

The device in our brains was made to evolve as technology changed, and with the advent of the efficient wristbands that basically ran several aspects of our daily lives, our brains could also be occasionally connected. Although reading another's exact thoughts and feelings remains beyond the realm of current possibility, having a voluntary conversation is feasible. One of the reasons we have probably risen so high in Nabald's esteem is our possession of this technology so common among humans and so rare among demons.

"I've learned some interesting news today from Nabald, Buffy." Spike almost sounds as if he is speaking aloud.

"What?"

"Nabald is planning a raid on the learning institute. He wants to go for live food this time."

"What! Why?" I do not bother to hide my shock at Nabald's boldness. Children are sent from birth to age ten to live at the learning institute where their brains are fed information and trained in a specialized area. Although the place sounds like a negative experience for the children, in all actuality, the children are allowed to do most of the things children did in my time as human. The international government funds the institute so that even children from the poorest families are allowed and expected to attend.

"I know. The place is full of children," Spike acknowledges. "I asked him how he thought to get around the slayage crew. He said he heard a rumor that the slayer and crew are on Mars fighting a demon uprising there, leaving Earth vulnerable."

"Damn it. How can we stop this?" When Spike and I lost our identities two hundred years ago, we decided to use the new bios to our advantage in the demon world. After decades of trying, we'd finally infiltrated Nabald's infamous organization. We continued to help in the fight against the darkness even if the Watcher's Council wanted us dead and even if we couldn't leave the darkness ourselves.

At Spike's next words, I notice that he's grinning at me. "You'll be very proud of me."

"What did you do?"

"It's quite perfect if I do say so myself." He's enjoying keeping me in suspense.

"Grrr. Tell me," I insist.

"Nabald agreed to send us to Mars to keep an eye on the slayer."

"What?!" I am not quite sure what to say. "You're nuts!"

"Now hold your temper, pet," he soothes, "There's a reason I agreed to this."

"Oh, really."

"We're going to actually approach the slayer and her crew for help with the situation," he explains.

"I won't even dignify that with a response."

He grins again. "You just did."

I glare at him, giving him the ole Buffy evil eye.

His laughter bounces through my thoughts. "Now just wait a minute."

My hand under his threatens to rip away from his touch. He's determined to get us killed! In response to my tension, his fingers rub tiny circles on my wrist, which involuntarily calms me. Damn him!

"I thought that by going to the slayer, we could test out the current Council. See how they respond to us now. See what they've told the slayer about us."

I've known that Spike is tired of hiding for a while now. I just didn't realize how much he wanted to be in the open again. For him to suggest finding out the Council's views of us means he is very serious.

"But we'll lose our new identities," I counter.

"I'd rather be myself in hiding than anyone else." Spike is proud of being such an elder vampire, and he has always preferred to be nothing but himself. I suppose I'm surprised that he's handled the alternate identity this long.

"But, our freedom to travel. . . "

"Is already almost nonexistent because we're vampires." He pauses before adding, "And we'll be able to help the children."

He convinces me. "All right. We'll go to Mars."

Impulsively, he ends our mental conversation to pick me up and spin me around. I giggle at his giddiness.

When he sets me onto my feet, I encourage him to temper his enthusiasm with my next words, "But, we're going to take precautions and be careful."


	14. Chapter 14

2675, three evenings later

"Ayledan. That's her name," Spike comments as our tiny cruiser ship docks smoothly into the receiving bay at the third Mars colony. Although trips through Earth's atmosphere are almost instantaneous, trips through space remain slow and long. A trip to the three Mars colonies is approximately two and a half days long. When civilians travel, the travelers are required to sleep through the journey.

"And her friends? Know their names, too?" I am hefting one bag and handing Spike the second. I am in charge of supplies, transportation, and housing while Spike is in charge of information on this expedition. We are dressed in soft grey and navy blue jumpers with matching grey travel boots. Our packs are a similar grey-color, and my hair is piled on the top of my head in a functional twist.

"She has two in service of the Watchers' Council and two of her own picking." He adds, "The two she chose are demon. . . or at least, part demon."

The shuttle door dissipates, and we enter a noisy, human-filled gathering area with several floors. The dock has several shuttle portals that each open up in a main arena where people from the colonies come to retrieve guests, where visitors obtain information about travel services and conveniences, and where people frequently gather for a meal at one of the myriad of restaurants available. A mix of strange and exotic smells filter through the air from their kitchens. Transport pads deliver people or goods to the other two colonies, and advertisements line the floating ad boards, describing the latest fashions and computer devices to passersby. Two or three dance clubs of various types complete the picture. No windows line the walls because the sun's rays are too harsh even for the human colonists that live on Mars, much less the vampires.

"Really?" I ask after we gain our bearings and are heading toward one of the transport pads that leads to lodging. "What kind of demons?"

"Not sure because they are both part human. However, they are supposed to be formidable warriors. The ones employed by the Council include her Watcher and a witch named Sage."

"Sage. A warlock or witch?"

"Definitely a witch. Ayledan's Watcher is Bandel." Spike accidentally taps his shoulder against a human walking by. The man nods politely at Spike, and Spike returns the gesture.

"Bandel, Sage, and. . . ?" My pack is sliding off my shoulder, so I adjust the strap, trying not to hit anyone as we climb down a set of stairs to the main platform.

"The part-demons have no names. Information on them is pretty scarce. Perhaps because Ayledan chose them instead of the Council."

"Oh." I lean close to the eye scan device.

A beep sounds. "Cynthia Waters. You may enter."

Waiting for Spike in the doorway to the transport, I watch my lover press his eye to the machine. A second beep rings. "Joshua Henderson. You may enter." Spike grimaces at his name, making me let out a small laugh.

We enter the tiny room together and decide not to take a seat. Because the room is well-used and rarely cleaned, bits of litter, old food, and mold line the floor and seats. Seems odd to find mold on a Martian colony. The odor is oddly enough like urine or the back lot of a fairground from long ago.

"Destination?" the computer intones in a faltering voice.

"Mars, Colony Two, Lodging Number 15B," I speak slowly and clearly.

"Mars, Colony Two, Lodging Number 15B?" the computer confirms.

"Yes."

In an instant, the transport room door disappears, and Spike leads the way into a small but posh living quarters. Being associated with Nabald apparently has some advantages. We set our baggage on the small metal luggage table near the entrance and head in different directions. I love exploring new living arrangements, and I doubt I'll have much time later to look around.

Spike goes immediately to the kitchen nook, opening the door to the cold closet and noting the rows of fresh cool blood. . . human blood, a rare treat. On the other hand, I notice the bed first. Bouncing onto the top of what appears to be the softest of sleeping pads, I shriek when I find myself floating on the air about a foot above the surface of the pad.

"Spike!"

My lover whips around in alarm, concern radiating from his every fiber. His fear fades to immense relief and a goofy grin when he witnesses me wearing a look of unadulterated joy and excitement. . . something he has not seen on me in over a hundred years.

"Having fun, pet?"

"Oh, gosh, yes!" I call, standing shakily on the firm cushion of air and attempting without much success to walk from one end of the bed to the other. Somehow the whole experience reminds me slightly of playing on a trampoline.

I stumble, and Spike laughs. "Careful, love."

"Like to see you do it!" I pout, partly embarrassed. My eyes widen as I realize what challenge I have just issued my lover. "Oh, crap."

With the grace of an acrobat, he leaps at the bed in one motion, tackling me into the air cushion, which miraculously keeps us from striking the bed proper's surface. I laugh wholeheartedly, and he gazes at me tenderly with amusement etched into his features.

"I love you, Buffy Summers."

"Love you, too, William. . . Henderson." Stifling a giggle, I roll away from him as he mock growls and grabs at me. At a safe distance from him, I swallow my laughter and ask, "What is this thing anyway?"

He props up his head up with his hand and arm balancing on nothing but air. Smiling gently, he says, "I think it's one of those new-fangled fake 'anti-gravity' beds that are all the rage among humans on Earth at the moment."

"Well, it's cool!" I inch closer to him and kiss him lightly. "Can't wait to sleep on it."

"Sleep on it, pet?" Spike raises one eyebrow and smirks.

"Yes, sleep. I want to take a nap before we get started," I insist, pretending not to notice his hinted innuendo.

"But you just slept for three days on the shuttle!" he reminds me, stroking my long hair.

"Well, I have to get my Mars legs, and I'm tired."

I curl up facing him. "So, what are we doing first? Where're Ayledan and her team located?"

"Miros, Nabald's contact here, is supposed to meet with us later to give us information on the slayer's whereabouts. Last Nabald heard, she was in the mines, hunting a couple of G'ticus demons who were trying to unleash a slew of Neyons onto to Mars in hopes of conquering the colonies here and forming a base operation from which to attack Earth and its neighboring space colonies."

"How did G'ticus demons get all the way to Mars?" I wonder incredulously. G'ticus demons are hardly inconspicuous, being seven feet tall and weighing three hundred plus pounds. They are also a light shade of lavender.

"Somebody smuggled them in as part of a collection of stuffed demons for a museum." Spike rolls his eyes. "Bloody idiot."

"I think I'd agree there. And they're hidden in the maze of mines? I'm amazed they got so far without detection."

"Oh, they were detected all right. After waking from space sleep, they barged through main area on Colony 3. . . where we landed. . . and headed straight for the mine transport. Didn't destroy a thing although they did frighten people quite a bit."

"Ah. And why are they conjuring Neyon demons? Don't they realize they can't control them?"

"Apparently, pet, these G'ticus demons have training in neurosurgery."

"What?!" I am floored.

"Yep, same ponce who smuggled them in was also a neurosurgeon. Taught them the trade. He considered them bloody pets."

"I've never heard of that." I pause, moving toward Spike and turning to fit my body against his. "Doesn't mean it couldn't happen." I issue a large yawn. "Naptime. Plan later."

"K, love." Spike remains on his elbow, observing me as I settle against him and close my eyes.

The door beeping startles me out of my precarious position on the edge of sleep. I jump, causing Spike to jerk as well. We give each other that look that says, "What now?" as I swing my legs off the air cushion and land with surety on my feet. Spike is by my side in a second. The house computer doesn't say who is behind the barrier.

Without us uttering a word, the door melts away to reveal a tall, slender young woman with olive-coloring. Her hair cascades to her hips in a shiny charcoal wave, and her hand clutches what can only be wooden stake.

Ayledan.


	15. Chapter 15

2675, a few seconds later

"What are you doing here?" Ayledan advances smoothly into our suite. She is clad in pure white, enhancing the deep black depths of her eyes. Her voice is slightly accented as if her first language wasn't the international standard, and I realize she must have been plucked from obscurity by the Council and has likely never been to the learning institute.

Spike decides to play dumb, which he has never been particularly adept at doing. "Ummm. Who are you?" A memory flash of him faking a southern accent in the face of the Initiative soldiers hundreds of years ago enters my head, and I bite my lip to prevent inappropriate laughter.

Ayledan ignores his question and glares at me. "What are you doing here, Miss Summers?"

Spike and I exchange a wary glance. How does she know who I am? I read the message in his eyes. He's telling me that we can't take her alone. . . not with her genetic enhancements. I make a decision. Best to talk to the slayer.

"Looking for you actually," I declare, tilting my head slightly and crossing my arms in response to her fighter's stance.

"I can't believe you'd show yourselves here."

Obviously switching tactics, Spike clears his throat, and Ayledan trains her gaze on him for the first time. "We're here to talk with you about something really important. A demon uprising on Earth." He gestures at her stake. "So, if you could just put that away, we could all have a nice civil conversation."

What Ayledan does next unnerves me, and not much does that anymore. Pocketing the stake, she shrugs her shoulders, betraying her youth. "Okay. I'll bite, William the Bloody." She pivots and re-enters the transport area. "You guys coming?"

Spike and I exchange another bewildered look before Spike warily takes a step to follow her. My senses on high alert, I keep my sights glued to the slayer who almost arrogantly has her back to us. . . an arrogance I don't believe I've ever possessed. Spike's arm brushes mine in a hint of reassurance; I provide him a tense smile in return.

Once the door is in place again, Ayledan says softly, "Mars, Colony One, Archway 536."

* * *

2675, ten minutes later

Ayledan leads the way through the twists and turns of a multitude of narrowing and widening corridors. The further we walk, the fewer living beings pass us going one direction or another and the dimmer the lighting becomes. Her head turning left and right and noting everything that moves around us, Ayledan is virtually acting as if Spike and I are not close on her heels.

Spike snags my hand and laces his fingers with mine so that our wristbands are touching. Between the familiar coolness of his touch and the pressure of his fingers surrounding mine, the butterflies in my stomach calm considerably. Instantly, he is in my head, talking to me. "Pet, do you have any idea how she knew we were here?"

I shake my head, and Spike glares at my movement. I wince, and a second later, he is rubbing my palm with his thumb in apology. Gnawing on my bottom lip, I mentally telegraph, "No. I have no idea. Perhaps we're about to find out. Got a plan?"

"That's mostly your department, love."

"Oh ho, and who thought of the brilliant plan to come to Mars?" I shoot back, digging my fingernails into his flesh until he flinches.

"Well, who bloody well agreed to it?"

"You coerced me!"

"Uh huh. Like Buffy Summers could be coerced into anything." He pushes his fingernail into one of my cuticles, and I almost jerk my hand away at the shot of pain.

"I hate it when you do that!"

"Do what?"

"Call me Buffy Summers like I'm not even here!" We've had this kind of argument many times before. . . usually when one or both of us feels like we don't have control of our situation.

"You never said anything about it before!"

"Well, there you go! It *bothers* me! Got it?"

"Fine! I won't call you bloody *anything* until you tell me what you'd like me to call you, your highness."

"Fine!" I draw a blank on an appropriate nickname in response.

A heartbeat passes. . . if we had a heartbeat.

"Buffy, we still don't have a plan." Spike's always been the one to break the ice. He waits until my eyes are on his.

Knowing the dangerousness of our situation, I attempt to calm myself. "I know. We should really have something in mind. How about. . . "

"Sodding!" Spike's exclamation in my head is magnified by the word actually being spoken aloud. Then, our mental connection is severed.

Spike and I tumble forward into Ayledan who has stopped abruptly. We crash to the ground. Ayledan hops to her feet and brushes herself off, giving us an odd look. I suppose she expected more grace out of famed warriors, Buffy Summers and William the Bloody. If I were alive, I'd be blushing furiously.

As Spike and I recover, Ayledan announces, "We're here. The slayer's hideaway on Mars." Spike and I notice the door that has seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

Spike asks what I'm thinking, "So, why did you bring us here? Want to turn us in to the Council? To stake us? What?"

Ayledan's expression reveals a peaceful inner core that I've seen only in older adults and slayers. "If I wanted to turn you in to the Council, I would have simply called them here. They could handle you themselves." I detect the note of dislike in her voice when she speaks of the Council, and I file the information away in my head. "And if I wanted to stake you, I'd have done it as soon as you landed."

"How did you know we were coming?" I query, shifting a glance at Spike who has not removed his eyes from Ayledan. A tinge of jealousy shoots through my abdomen at Spike's obvious remaining interest in slayers.

Ayledan turns from us. "You're about to find out." She leans forward, whispering something in an unknown language. The door evaporates into nothing, and we file silently into the mysterious "hideaway."

The main entrance room is small, but there seems to be a couple of passageways to unknown places branching off the primary room. A lone table is the only furniture in the area, and four individuals are seated around it. They study us eagerly as we enter. My heart tugs a bit with a complex mix of feelings, ranging from nostalgia for Willow, Giles, Xander, and the others to a feeling of isolation and of being an outsider.

Ayledan positions herself to the side and proceeds to introduce Spike and me to the group. "This is Bandel, my Watcher." She notes our worry and assures us, "He's on the good side. . . like Giles, Buffy."

Bandel smiles and waves slightly. He is a middle-aged man with dirty blond hair and slim good looks. His eyes are kind and probably mask a knowledge beyond what I know about the demon world even after all these years. I've been fairly sheltered as demons go. . . by Spike, by my friends.

"Sage."

A petite young woman with mousy brown hair that is drawn up off her neck in loose curls smiles shyly at Spike and me. She is dressed in a light violet skirt that flowed to the floor and a matching top. "Hi, I'm the witch." Her voice betrays her youth, but her aura is full of a power that has been matched only by Willow. Funny the things one notices as a vampire.

Of most interest to me are the two others at the table. . . the unknowns.

"Richard." A tall, gangly young man with fair skin and piercing green eyes lounges against the back of his seat with his legs parted and bent in crooked fashion. The only thing inhuman about his appearance is the long fur-covered tail that swishes in and out and around the legs of his chair. "He's half-Torakal demon."

Spike nods knowingly to my left. Of course, I have no idea what a Torakal demon is.

Richard grins at the uncertainty that must be displayed on my face. "I've the ability to melt things with my touch." I now notice the gloves he's wearing. "Gotta wear the gloves to prevent that from happening when I don't want it to."

"Torakal demons have been around since before the days of vampires, love. They live quite a long time," Spike explains.

Richard's grin grows wider. "Yep. I'm now four hundred fifty- seven."

"Half-Torakal?" I wonder.

"My mom was human. She gave me a nice human name to blend me in."

Ayledan shifts, and we fall silent. "And last but not least, Miros."

Before my mind registers the name, Spike hurls across the room and pins Miros to the wall with his grip around the other vampire's. "What the bloody hell is going on?"


	16. Chapter 16

2675, a few more seconds later

"Miros," Spike reminds me in a half-growl, "is Nabald's vampire contact on Mars. We were supposed to meet with him later. Remember, pet?"

I say nothing but observe the others present.

Everyone in the room has risen to his or her feet, but each seems curiously unfazed by Spike's actions toward Miros. In fact, Sage, the young female witch, and Richard, the half-Torakal demon are not even bothering to hide their full-blown smiles. Bandel has his mouth covered with his hand, and Ayledan's shoulders are shaking in silent laughter.

Spike relaxes his grip a bit, and Miros groans hesitantly but doesn't struggle. "What's so bleeding funny?"

I cross my arms, waiting impatiently for a reply from Aydelan. She clears her throat and coughs lightly before explaining, "Miros works for us. He's actually a plant inside the Nabald faction. He keeps us up to date on Nabald's activities."

"And you trust him why?" I am incredulous. "He's a vampire."

"Yes, well, he's an ex-Watcher turned vamp," Sage continues for Ayledan, her tinkling voice soft. "He. . . "

Without turning his head from Miros, Spike interrupts, "Um, the Watcher thing doesn't cut it. Doesn't explain his choice to be on your side."

"Well, what made *you* fight with the forces of good?" Ayledan challenges.

Spike's voice is laden with emotion, and he glances quickly at me. "Love."

"Well, can you imagine the same from the vampire in front of you? I was a homeless, abandoned little baby on the street when Miros found me. He raised me. . . took care of me. . . trained me. . . until the Watcher's Council came for me."

Miros's voice sounds foreign from beneath Spike's loosened grip, and he has a muddled British accent. "One night a few hundred years ago, I was out doing field training and ran across several vampires who took turns feeding from me. One young vamp took pity on me as I lay dying and turned me. My fellow trainees found me alone and dead and took me back to the Council. They buried me with the intent to send a group of Watchers to slay me the next night. The party that was sent to kill me included my best friend, Krista. She cast the spell to imbue me with a soul. She set me free, and the Council was never the wiser until Bandel here came across me. Even now, the rest of the Council doesn't know about me."

My lips turn down uncertainly. "Surely, they're aware of your existence."

Miros nods. "They know that I help Ayledan. But they don't know who I truly am. Miros obviously isn't my real name but an alias."

Clearly still as skeptical as I am, Spike shoots forth another question, "So, how do we know we can trust you? And what have you told the Council about us?"

Bandel chooses that moment to assert his thoughts, "We have told them nothing. Realize that our little group has been aware of your existence for a few years now. Miros has been working with me since I began training Ayledan. His relationship with Nabald was set years before we met him. He'd infiltrated, and we just used the information. Although Nabald remains unaware of your fight against the demons prior to your relationship with him, we were well aware that you have taken on perhaps numerous missions to stop the world from ending. . . even after the Council wanted you dead."

"So, how come you never tried to contact us before?" I uncross and re-cross my arms, shifting my weight in thought. "I mean, you must have considered it."

Bandel's smile widens. "Well, you see, we had no reason to get in touch with you before. As a group, we felt that you were better left alone to work in ways that we could not."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, as two knowledgeable, strong demons and individuals, you have the ability to go places and do things in the demon world that we would have no chance of doing since our group is mostly human. You have accomplished things in months that would have taken us years to do with such thoroughness."

Spike finally lets Miros completely loose and returns to my side. He touches my arm briefly, and I know he's relishing my shiver. "So, we've been like your uninvited allies, then, mate?"

Bandel chuckles. "Yes, I suppose you have."

"Tell me one thing that we did that you wouldn't have known if you hadn't been aware of us," Spike presses insistently.

Richard lifts a hand to signal us. "Oh! The time last year when we were called out by the Council to hunt down a particular nest of vampires who was sneaking into medical treatment centers and feeding off the dying. Miros and Sage went out to scout out the place where the nest was located. That way, if they ran into any vamps who became suspicious, Miros could pretend Sage was his hostage."

They are telling us the truth.

"And let me tell you, that was the *most* fun I've ever had," Sage pipes up, rolling her wide brown eyes to emphasize her sarcasm. "Slogging through underground tunnels for hours wearing big rubber boots is not my cup of tea."

Richard's tail is swishing in a lively fashion in response to his excitement at telling the tale. "And then, when they reached the nest, they witnessed the most amazing thing! Both you guys fighting a hoard of vamps all by yourselves. Except you both had light brown hair then."

"We got the whole thing on magi-vid, too, thanks to yours truly. So, the rest of the group got to see it later."

"Why didn't you help us?" I am slightly puzzled by their decision to remain anonymous especially given how grueling that particular fight was.

Miros explains softly, "Well, we didn't know who you were at first, so we didn't interfere. We did a lot of research. . . in the field and in the records before we figured it out finally. Then, like Bandel said, we decided the best course of action was to leave you be to do what you were doing best."

"Why now?" I wonder aloud.

Miros inserts, "What do you mean?"

I clarify my question, "Why did you choose now to contact us?"

"Because," Ayledan returns, "we need your help. We want to take out Nabald's group before we move on to Joyger's. And with Nabald about to attack the learning institute, we have further reason to focus on him first."

"What about the Neyon and G'ticus demons?"

"Done, gone, dead. No worries there."

Everyone is gathering around the table where Bandel is unfolding a sheaf of papers. I feel my old slayer instinct waking. "Okay, what's the plan so far?"


	17. Chapter 17

2675, five days later

"I can't believe the slayer found out our location!" Nabald is furiously pacing back and forth across the carpets in his primary meeting hall. He's a hand-talker, and his arms are pumping up and down. His hair is sticking straight up in patches where he rubbed his fingers over his scalp. In all the months I've spent in close contact with him, I have never seen him so flustered.

He ceases moving and faces me with a plaintive expression. "How, Cynthia? How could she possibly have found out?"

Being on thin ground, I am not certain what to say in reply. I decide to go with the truth. . . simpler and less likely to give me away. "Someone ratted you out."

Nabald immediately resumes his path. "But, who would do something like that? How have I not treated my followers well?"

"Someone who got a better deal?" I hypothesize, not really knowing if he was listening to me.

"Maybe. But who would give him a better deal?" His right hand goes to his head, and he tugs his fingers through his tangled hair. "I've treated them all so well!" He glances at me. "Is no one loyal anymore?" He shook his head. "Don't answer that. . . And he picked the perfect time! Just when I was about to pull off one of my biggest raids."

"But the main thing is that we get everyone out. Joshua and Miros have found the perfect place. Somewhere the slayer would never find. They're busy helping everyone else evacuate. We just have to get you there as well. That's my job."

He bows his head in defeat. "I know."

I approach him carefully. "Come now. Let's get your things ready. Everyone else is already on the way."

"My bags are there, Cynthia." He points at the mound of luggage against the wall.

I hurry to the pile and load my arms and shoulders with Nabald's belongings. Nabald doesn't seem to be joining me. "Um. Are you going to help me?"

Almost despondently, Nabald shrugs. "Sure."

My heart tugs a bit for the vampire before me. Then, I remind myself of his plans to kill hundreds or thousands of children. He's definitely a predator with whom I don't want to trifle. "You ready?"

"Yes." He nods almost childlike.

Waiting for him, I signal the direction we are supposed to go with one bag-laden arm. "That way." He doesn't move.

"Cynthia, do you know how much I will miss this place?" Nabald surveys the now almost completely empty space thoughtfully.

My voice is low, "I think I do."

He continues, "This was a symbol of my power, my strength. . . a symbol of my success. So many things have happened here."

Choosing a half-lie, I reassure, "You'll reestablish yourself elsewhere. Then, you'll have a new home."

His body straightens a little. "You're right. I will."

Several minutes pass, and we are already in the underground tunnels before he speaks again, "Thank you, Cynthia."

My chest constricts. "You're welcome."

The echo of rapid footfalls saves me from having to further respond to Nabald's sentiments. My hands clench around the bag straps, preparing to throw them aside. Nabald's reaction is similar. Miros rounds the corner, his hair and clothes askew.

"Nabald! There's trouble! The slayer's discovered our new place as well! Come quickly, we need your help. . . your leadership. We outnumber the slayer, but they. . . we need guidance!"

Nabald and I shed the heavy cloak of his belongings, and we trail Miros at a run. I note the change in Nabald. Now that his group is in danger, he is prepared for battle.

"Miros, what exactly happened?"

"I don't know. One minute, we were settling in. The next, the slayer and her group showed. We were completely taken by surprise. T-the witch has some sort of solar spell. Dusted at least a hundred in a second or two."

Nabald's jaw visibly tightens. Secretly, I'm impressed by Sage's finesse. "So, how many are left? And can the witch do it again?"

"No, she's apparently out for the count. Spell drained her completely. There's about twenty or thirty of us left."

"We've got the numbers. That should be to our advantage," I point out.

"Yes," Miros agrees.

* * *

2675, several minutes later

We arrive at the scene, and I quickly take in as much information about the surrounding battle as I can. Set in a shadowed, cavern-like room with concrete walls, my first instinct is to locate Spike, and I spot him in the corner, staying in the background. Ayledan is fighting back to back with Richard whose hands are glove-free. My eyes widen as I witness him grab a vampire and press his hand against the vampire's bare flesh. After a handful of seconds, the vampire explodes into a ball of dust. Sage has pushed herself weakly against the wall, and Bandel is swinging a double- edged sword at vampires. The demons are angrily trying to get the witch who torched their friends.

Spike's eyes light even in the shadows when he spies me, and his body seems to come alive as he springs out of the darkness. Miros growls beside me and launches himself at Nabald who is shaken by the surprise.

Shifting into my own game face, I jump into the fray, sliding a stake into my palm from the inner part of my sleeve. Landing a kick into a vampire's thigh and forcing her to the ground, I pause as she gathers herself.

Gold eyes glint up at me from under a drape of blonde hair. "Lydia."

She pounces on me, pinning me to the ground on my back. Pain shoots through my spine as shock radiates through my back against the unbending cement, and my vampire face is forced away. I bring my stake toward her heart, but she scoops my hand away.

"What the hell are you doing, Cynthia?"

Another voice interrupts before I can speak. "It's a trap!" Nabald shouts. I hear the customary sound of a vampire being dusted. I crane my neck to see Miros's remains floating down. "Cynthia and Joshua have betrayed us! They are the enemy here!"

A cry of anguish emits from Ayledan in reaction to Miros's death. She rushes just past me to attack Nabald, but before she can get to the vampire leader, Lydia snags her pant leg. Lydia's weight is lifted from my torso as she tackles the girl. I'm on my feet instantaneously, and I jerk Lydia off Ayledan. After helping the slayer to her feet, I whirl to face Lydia who has just picked herself up. She hisses as I block her punches and kicks and land a punch on her jaw. She flies back, crashing into the wall behind her.

"Buffy!" My eyes lock on Spike's. "Nabald!"

My head flies right to witness Nabald abandoning the battlefield. Ayledan is crumpled in a heap on the ground. She groans as I bend over her.

"You okay?"

She blinks up at me. "Yeah. Go."

I need no more encouragement and race after the vampire leader, not knowing what to expect in the tunnels. I smile. . . I thrive on the unknown.


	18. Chapter 18

2675, several more minutes later

I deeply dislike wandering through the underground. The damp smell of mold that almost makes me gag, and the slime that covers most surfaces is enough to make me want to remain above earth ground. A thick humidity permeates the air. Also, because many of the passages are narrow, fighting and stalking prey is difficult. Running is hard, too, because there are few entrances to the underground, and they are typically not tucked away in a corner but are in view of others who might wander past.

However, what bothers me the most about the underground is the enclosed feeling I get. Funny, but even after hundreds of years, I'm still claustrophobic in areas without the possibility of sunlight. Spike laughs at this aspect of my nature and teasingly asks me what kind of vampire am I to want sunlight so nearby. I explain that my need for sunlight is like the comfort that comes with leaving a vid on when no one's home or just having someone in the other room even if you aren't talking. And having sunlight behind a curtain keeps me centered. . . reminds me whom I was before. . . whom I still am. Spike seems to understand that.

My boots clump dully through the passageways, and I roll the stake over my fingers as I listen for any sign that Nabald might be nearby. I don my vampire mask to enhance my detection abilities.

I find an exit, but no one is nearby, and the door doesn't smell like it has been opened in the recent past. The metal in the door is warm to the touch. . . warmer than the air in the passageways. The sun is up, so Nabald hasn't gone outside.

Continuing to trail Nabald with caution, I reach a dead end. My brow furrows; I am fairly sure that he came this way. Sighing impatiently, I turn and face the length of the empty tunnel.

"Where *are* you?" I plant my hands on my hips. "I'm not here to play around; I'm here to kill you."

Silence.

"Come out, come out wherever you are," I singsong, flipping my stake lightly. "I know you're here."

More silence.

Then, a disembodied voice flows over the airways, "Who *are* you?"

I try to persuade him to speak more, so I can locate him. "Who do you think I am?"

"Obviously *not* Cynthia Waters."

I can't help laughing. "No. I'm not." I start toward the source of the voice, which is back the way I came. "Do you have any clue who I am?"

"Buffy. He called you Buffy." Nabald's voice is becoming clearer and more recognizable.

"Yes."

When he doesn't respond for a moment, I think I might have lost him until he speaks again, "Not *the* Buffy. . . Buffy Summers?"

"Got it in one, buddy."

"Such disrespect sounds odd coming out of your mouth, Miss Summers." Awe is evident in his next statement, "And if you're Buffy, . . . then, your companion must be. . . William the Bloody. Spike."

"Yes," I repeat, my other senses on edge. I keep moving the same direction.

"I hadn't realized he was still around. Thought he was long gone. And he's still with you. Wow. That's surprising. I never met him before, but I've heard tales. Heard he was really in love with that Drusilla chick. Must have taken her death pretty hard."

Got him. I reach into the inky darkness and grab Nabald's thick arm, pulling him into my field of vision and deftly flipping him onto his back.

On top of him, I defend my relationship with Spike, "Well, I don't see any woman hanging around you, so I must be doing something right."

One of his grey eyes winks at me, and he hefts me away. Using the push he has given me, I fall into a roll and am standing before he has a chance to hone in on me.

He lashes out at me first, and I stop his movement before he hits me, connecting a solid kick to his abdomen. Stumbling back, he chuckles in amusement. Striking out at me again, he lands a blow to my ribcage, and I grunt in response, flowing with the punch and falling into a cartwheel, so the impact is less. Ending up behind him, I attempt to kick his feet out from under him, but he is quick for being so big, and he sidesteps me. I block his next punch and kick with ease, all the while laying in some of my own.

Several minutes pass, and I begin to realize how evenly matched we are. We are each hitting our mark about the same number of times. My asset seems to be my speed and flexibility while his is strength. The blows he delivers are hard, and even in my blocks, I feel the impact of that strength in every fiber of my body.

While we are each regrouping, he grins at me. "Have you forgotten who I am, Miss Summers? I am a master vampire. . . older than even your William. I can promise this won't be an easy conquest for you."

We begin circling one another slowly like two giant cats waiting for the other to strike first.

"Nor do I expect it to be." I gesture at him to attack with both hands. "Bring it on."

"All right. You asked for it."

What he does next catches me completely off guard. He raises both hands toward me, and lightening flies from his fingertips. I narrowly miss being struck by the bolts as I tumble out of their path.

"What the hell?" I mutter to myself, jumping to my feet at the same time as his foot buries itself in my hip. I wince through the pain and take hold of his calf with both hands, dragging him down and dropping my stake.

After punching him in the face several times and drawing blood, I dive after my stake with the intent to properly stake him, but he hurtles his body on top of me, smashing and twisting my wrist with his weight. His blood drips in my hair, and I can feel the liquid running along my scalp. I shudder.

"Now what are you going to do, Miss Summers?" he whispers in my ear.

"What I want to know," I quip, figuring getting him to talk is my shot at overcoming him, "is how you did that nifty lightning bolt thingie."

"Magic."

"Where did *you* learn magic?"

"Had a little witch once. She taught me yoga and how to make a mean energy shake. And she taught me magic." His hands begin to rove over my body, and I feel his lips hovering over my neck.

When I recognize what he's doing, I almost shiver. In his blossoming arousal, his weight shifts, and I take advantage, using my legs to fling his weight over my head. I am up instantly and retrieve my stake with my non-mangled hand. Nabald remains on the ground, apparently a bit dazed and still aroused. I wrinkle my nose in disgust before flying at him.

Something in his face shifts at that moment, and he lets out a roar as lightning fires from his fingertips and lances through my body. The impact flings me back through the air. Crying out, I crumble to the dirt, cradling my stake to my chest. I lay unmoving, waiting for him to approach me. The faint smell of burnt flesh meets my nose; I'm definitely wounded.

He strides slowly toward me and leans to touch my shoulder. At that moment, I gather all my energy and spring upwards. With my smashed hand, I clasp at the stake and pull on the door handle above with my opposite hand. The heavy metal scrapes loudly as the door reluctantly gives in to my weight. Nabald screams when he realizes what's happening. I smile to myself.

And I see my first sunny day in over six hundred years.


	19. Chapter 19

2675, an unknown amount of time later

My senses come back to me one by one. . . slow as honey pouring tediously out of a barely-tilted bottle. My first perception is like a sandpapery cat tongue laving over the skin on what I vaguely recognize as my hands and face and neck. Next, I am aware of my tongue, laying thick and heavy in the cavern of my mouth like a giant slug that's unwilling to obey the command to move. I taste the faint tinge of something metallic and a scratchy itch in the back of my throat like someone's forced blood down my throat.

Light brushes across my eyelids, lighting my world scarlet red as if I am staring directly into the sunlight with my eyes shut tight. Automatically. . . instinctually, I flinch away but find my muscles are pressed firmly against something warm and feathery soft. Inwardly, I sigh with relief, and I momentarily forget the effulgence of the unexplored outer environment.

Then, I hear a sound. . . .

A sound is beating toward my eardrums in a hesitating rhythm. . . .

The resonance is so painfully obvious but unidentifiable to my underwater consciousness. . . .

Wait. . . .

Something wet and hot and liquid is seeping through the cotton covering on my forearm. . . . A stray drop winds a path down to my hand and burns there. . . .

Salt, salt burns. Tears! Triumphant, I grin inwardly at my ability to put a word to something. . . .

But tears mean someone is crying. . . hurting.

Forcing my muscles to obey me, I defy the pain in my eyelids and open my eyes. My vision is cloudy, but I am able to recognize Ayledan's shiny dark hair covering her face. I part my lips to speak to her, but only a small moan escapes my mouth.

She lifts her head at my utterance and smiles through bloodshot eyes that she rubs vigorously as if she is trying to hide her tears. "You're awake."

I lay unmoving, uncertain how to respond.

"I suppose you'll want to know what happened." She lets silence build for a moment. "I mean, I would if I just woke up and didn't know."

My eyes flick around the foreign room, searching for Spike. Ayledan knows what I'm doing.

"He. . . Spike is in the other room sleeping. He didn't want to leave your side, but I made him because he hadn't slept in hours. . . actually, make that days."

I attempt to convey the relief that fills my heart with my eyes; however, the slayer doesn't notice. She's already lost in her own world. . . almost separate from herself.

"The vampires are gone. We, Richard, Bandel, Sage, Spike, and I, killed all but a handful. When Spike took off after you, we pretty much followed because we were all too weak to carry on by ourselves. The remaining vamps got away.

"I don't know what made Spike go after you like he did. Maybe he sensed something the rest of us didn't. Maybe you have a connection with him that I could never understand. But one minute he was fighting, and the next, he left. Richard carried Sage because she was unconscious at that point. . . with his gloves back on, of course. Bandel limped along because he twisted his ankle and broke his arm, so Richard hung back with him to make sure no stray vamps attacked him. I kept up with Spike who ignored every attempt I made to get him to slow down and explain what was going on.

"We arrived at your location just as you opened the exit. Sunlight literally poured into the underground, and you and Nabald lit afire. The scariest thing was that you didn't make a noise, but Nabald screamed like a banshee. He staggered back into the shadows and began to roll around. You just stayed in the light, and Spike dove after you, knocking you into the darkness again.

Ayledan's face hardens in deep anger. "And I made sure Nabald made it back into the sunlight. I had to hold him there. . . i-in my lap. He burned until there was only ash. The screams were awful. The worst sound I've ever heard. . . ever felt against my body. . . and so very loud." She shivers. "I think I'll be having nightmares about them for a very long time."

She seems to have more to say, but she hesitates. I transmit encouragement with my eyes. She caves to her innermost feelings before me.

"M-miros is gone. . . d-dead." Tears rise anew. "He was my whole family, and now he's gone."

Without thinking, I reach for her, stroking her long, soft hair with my left hand as she buries her face on the sheets covering me. We stay in that position for a long time until Ayledan has cried out all her hurt. . . for now. She will probably cry again later when the pain hits fresh. I wish I had words for her, but perhaps the quiet is better. . . less like false comfort.

Finally, she stands and clears her throat. "Wait here. I'll get you something to drink." I almost protest that I'm not in the least bit hungry, but instead, I let her go. She wants to be helpful after her emotional display. I've felt the same way in the past.

As soon as she is gone, I muster my energy and swing my aching legs to the ground. The floor is uncarpeted but is covered with a thin rug that's rough beneath my feet. Shaky from lack of blood, I sway in position for several seconds, balancing myself with my hand on the bed. Once the world has ceased spinning, I find that I'm able to place one foot in front of the other although only at a snail's pace. At the end of the bed, I am suddenly on my own, and I stumble to the doorway, clinging painfully to the doorframe and feeling thankful that I did not fall.

Then, I see him.

Lying in a stiff chair with his legs partially splayed, the love of my life sleeps with his eyes tightly shut, hair tousled and askew, and his lips slightly parted. The only sign that he is not completely at peace is the thin line of worry that etches his brow. There is an energy between us that is palpable even when one of us is asleep, and that bond pulls me to him now.

Before I am aware that my body has moved, I find myself directly in front of him. Settling carefully onto one of his thighs, I study him. As if to wipe away the anxiety, I bring my fingers forth to touch him only to be confronted with the wounds in my flesh for the first time. Jerking my hand down, I stare at the lesions on my hands. My blistered skin looks like a mosaic of pinks and reds and yellow-greens. Unable to tear away my gaze, I am filled with an odd mix of feelings, ranging from wonder to horror. The feeling is not unfamiliar.

"My angel."

His voice is low and filled with the British accent that I only hear when he is hoarse from sleep. He brings his hand up to caress my upper arm that is bare and unscarred. I flinch away. His arm returns to his side, and he ducks his head so that I am forced to view the brilliance of his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asks simply.

I shake my head and part my cracked lips, croaking, "I'm horrible."

I close my eyes to shield myself from his rejection of my scars. I should have known better. Spike's never been afraid of my scars. . . emotional or physical. He loves me the same no matter.

"No, you're beautiful; you'll always be beautiful, love," he states with a certainty I wish I felt.

"I wish I could see myself. . . wish I could look in a mirror and see myself," I whisper.

"Do you trust me?"

My eyes fly open to meet his earnest ones. Once upon a time, I would have said no. Now, . . . "Always." I have never been more certain of that emotion. . . trust.

"You are beautiful. . . inside and out. Always have been. The wounds will heal. . . no scars, I promise." Careful not to press too hard, he runs his fingertips lightly over the wounds on my face, staring at their path as if to remember every inch of my wrecked skin before returning his gaze to my own. "And I love you."

Tears erupt then, cascading down my face in scalding, stinging waves, and I hide my face in his familiar chest, weeping. He massages my back to comfort me and kisses the top of my messy hair. He holds me close until my tears cease, and I am hiccupping quietly. Then, he takes me by my shoulders and presses me back.

"What made you stay in the light, pet?" The urgency and fear is an undercurrent in his forcibly calm tone.

I stare at him steadfastly. "I wanted to see the sun again. I missed it."

"Did you want to die?" He is point blank. . . always straight to the truth.

Without hesitation, I reply, "No."

His features relax visibly, and I suddenly realize what he was thinking and feeling. Discounting the violent pain in my hands, I slide my arms around his middle. "No, silly, I didn't wish to leave you. . . didn't wish to be human again. . . although being human might make it easier to do my hair." A smile creeps onto his face. I continue, "And, besides, if I were human, I'd be very dead. And I wouldn't be around to bug the heck out of you."

The smile is more evident now. "You do have a tendency to be a pest."

"Who me?"

Spike gently kisses my burnt forehead. "Yep, love. It's always been you."

"I do love you," I remind him.

"Love you, too, Buffy."

I rest my hands tenderly on his shoulders. "Now, I have a proposition."

He leans his head back against the chair and rolls his eyes in mock annoyance. "What?"

"I want to adopt Ayledan. She needs a family. I think we do, too."

"Think we need a family, huh?"

"Yes, we do. We need a new identity. . . one not all hidden in the dark."

"But, what will the Council do?"

"Screw the Council," I say pointedly.

"That's the Buffy I know and love." Spike's face brightens considerably at my show of spunk, but when he glances over my shoulder, he sees something behind me that makes him freeze.

I turn my head slowly to view Ayledan standing in the doorway, holding two mugs of steaming blood. She is wearing tears of joy.


	20. Chapter 20

As requested by a couple of readers, this chapter is what happened with Ayledan, Spike, and Buffy.

2711

I sit alone, staring out the window at the cloudy skies. Today's weather is fitting. A lump fills my throat, and I swallow past the ache. Reaching up a finger, I trace a clear path through the condensed precipitation on the glass pane. I think ironically that everything was clear before today, but now. . .

"Are you ready, pet?" Spike runs a hand over my neck and kisses my cheek gently. I feel the tension in his body.

Looking up at him, I note how handsome he appears clad in black with his hair blond for the first time in I don't recall how many years. His eyes are shiny with unshed tears, and his evident pain squeezes my heart in a way only he can move me.

My gaze returns to the world outside. I tremble and fight the tears that threaten to spill over my cheeks. "No."

He sighs, half out of impatience, half out of dread to go himself. "Buffy, we'll miss the ceremony unless we leave now."

"I don't know if I want to go." The grey skies are crying gallons of water, and I want to retreat to the warmth of the bed with my lover, so I can put off facing the truth for a little while longer.

"What would Ayledan want you to do?"

I close my eyes, and Ayledan's broken, bloody body lights up my mind. Guilt rips through my gut. "I know. She'd want me to go."

"Yes." He takes my hand as I rise and laces his fingers with mine. I peek up at him from under dark waves. Then, I hug his arm to me; I need him now more than he can know.

"Did you get the memory box?" I ask softly, rubbing his forearm tenderly.

He brushes a strand of hair off my face, and then, his hand dives into his jacket pocket, pulling out the tiny black strip. He cradles the bit of technology in his palm as he held Ayledan as her life melted out of her. In that little strip is the final bit of our daughter. I stroke the metal with two fingers, and then, the truth overwhelms me.

Ayledan is never coming home.

My voice is almost inaudible, "It feels wrong."

"It does," he responds.

"I've seen so many people I love die, but I never expected to see my daughter go before me," I murmur.

"I never expected to have a daughter," Spike whispers more deeply than normal.

"Me either."

Our tears fall together, and soon, we are seated on the floor with our legs crossed and knees touching. He holds my hands in his larger ones, and our lips meet briefly. . . in reassurance that one of us will not leave the other.

Then, I'm startled as Spike laughs. My lips turn up in involuntary reaction. "What's funny?"

"I was just remembering what she said to those wankers on the Council when we approached them about taking on her training and making her our daughter."

I giggle. "I remember."

 

***"But Ayledan, You do not know what you ask. We cannot allow you to be trained by and live with monsters," the Council leader protests.

"But, you see, I have no family now." Ayledan stands before the Council board with her hands clasped behind her back. Her long, black hair is swept up off her neck, and she is dressed in a light brown suit and heels, giving her a responsible, adult appearance. "And they," she gestures toward Spike and I, "can give me everything I need. Training and a family."

"Why do you need a family? You are an adult. And you have friends and a Watcher to aide you. And we can't abide you communing with them. Spike has killed four slayers, including Buffy. We cannot chance that he would do the same to you. You are, therefore, forbidden from any connection with either of them."

Ayledan is swift in her reaction as she rushes at the Council leader. In an instant, he is thrown back and pinned to the table behind him. "You have no right to tell me what to do with my life. And I have a right to choose my own family. And unless you make this adoption go through, I'm through with you. I'll walk away, and you won't hear from me again."

She releases the leader, and he turns to the other board members. They gather in a tight circle, talking in quiet mumbles amongst one another. Although they speak the international language, they seem to be talking in gibberish. Then, their leader confronts the slayer again, face wearing a deep frown.

"All right, Ayledan. You may stay with them on one condition."

Ayledan straightens her shoulders and says, "And what might that be?"

"Spike and Buffy must work with us as well and abide by our rules."

An expression of panic brightens her eyes briefly as she turns to us in uncertainty. Without a word, I nod to her. A broad grin spreads across her features. She faces the leader and states, "We accept your terms."

Two seconds later, Ayledan rushes to us and engulfs us in a huge hug. "Hi, Mom and Dad."***

 

"What's your favorite memory of her?" I touch my forehead to Spike's.

"I dunno. There're so many, love." He thinks for a bit. "I think my favorite is when we bought this place. . . when we showed her for the first time."

 

***"What's the surprise?" Ayledan is wearing an eager expression. She's taller and stronger than me, but she's also still younger than twenty years of age.

Spike is just as excited as she is. "Keep your eyes shut tight, bit. Soon, very soon, you'll know."

Eyebrows raised, I glance at Spike with my hands on my hips. "I think she better cover her eyes with her hands, too."

Ayledan laughs loudly and presses both hands to her eyes. "They're covered; they're covered. What's the surprise? Hurry, I wanna know."

Spike takes her by the elbow and guides her to the public transport room. I enter behind them and lean against the wall as Spike gives the location to the computer. In the next instant, we're stepping into our new home.

"Okay, open them!" I exclaim.

Ayledan shrieks as soon as she uncovers her eyes. "A home! I've never had a home before!" She runs up the stairs in the loft apartment and finds the bedroom that's bare except for a bed and a feminine dresser, mirror, and chair. There's also a large ceiling to floor window with a cushioned window seat where she can curl up with books or nap or daydream.

Spike and I follow her, smiling goofily. We are giddy to have a new life amongst us. ***

 

"And yours?" Spike fields the question back at me.

My response is immediate, "When we had our talks."

"Ahhh. Any one in particular, pet?"

I smile wistfully. "Yeah."

 

*** "Buffy, Mom, can I talk with you?"

Glancing at her upside down from my stretching position in the training room, I reply, "Sure." I bounce back to an upright stance. I bend to snag my towel and water, leaning to the wall to shut off the thrumming exercise music. Even though I don't need the water and don't sweat, old habits die hard. "What's up, sweetie?" I take a drink of water and pat the seat next to me on the wall bench.

Ayledan gracefully settles next to me. A line appears between her eyes. "Will I ever have a normal life?"

Of all the questions that I thought she might ask, that was not one of them. I suppose I should have expected it. I take time to gather my thoughts before answering her query with another question. "What's normal?"

"I don't honestly know."

"Why are you asking me this, Ay?"

She studies her hands in her lap. "I just figured you might have felt the same way before. . . I mean, since you were the slayer, too."

I lean forward to force her to look me in the eye. "What happened?"

"Ben broke up with me." Tears fill her eyes.

I stroke her shoulder. "Oh, Ay. When? Why?"

She sniffles, and her tone is angry when she speaks again, "Last night, we went to dinner for our anniversary, you know, and a couple of vamps sat at the table next to us. So, you can guess what I was doing the whole night."

"Ben was trying to be romantic, and you couldn't focus because the vamps were there," I finish the story for her.

"Yeah. And we had to leave when they did, so I could stake them. He asked me if we would ever have a normal date. . . if we'd ever get married and have babies." Her expression is dejected.

"What did you tell him?" I urge her to continue.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I told him he knows I don't want kids and that I'm not ready to be married and that he would have to accept that slaying is part of who I am. And he said he couldn't take it anymore, and he couldn't see me anymore."

Ayledan bursts into tears then and lays her head in my lap. "Why can't he love me for who I am? What's wrong with me? Am I a freak?"

I allow her to sob for a few minutes before telling her to sit up. "Listen to me, Ay. You are a beautiful young woman. You are not a freak, and nothing is wrong with you. And Ben. He's just insecure. And one day, someone will accept you for who you are and love every part of you."

She smiles through her tears. "Like Dad loves you."

"Yeah, like Spike loves me." I return her smile.

She wipes her eyes on my sweat towel and takes a drink of the water I offer her. "I'm so lucky."

"And why's that?" I replace the strand of her hair that's come loose again.

"Cause I have you and Dad to talk with."

"And we're lucky to have you."

"And all those things you said. . . I needed to hear them. I mean, I know they're true, and it's a really simple thing, but I needed that." Her eyes are wide and earnest.

"I know. I needed to say them. Reminds me of who I am, too."

"Do you think Ben will come back?"

"Sweetie, I don't know. But if he doesn't, he's a fool."

She grins. "I know."***

 

Spike is smiling at my memory. "I didn't realize you'd discussed that with her."

"Yeah."

Ben had come back to Ayledan. Unlike most of the men in my life whom I can hardly recall, Ben didn't walk away forever. Like Spike, he made an effort to change and returned to Ayledan. They were engaged when Ayledan was killed. . . .

"Spike, we missed the ceremony," I realize, coming out of our sea of memories.

"Ah, pet, we had our own ceremony."

"What about the memory box?" I tap his pocket.

Spike presses his lips to my forehead. "We'll bring it later."

I agree without saying a word. "We were lucky to have her."

"That we were, love; that we were."


	21. Chapter 21

3000

"Buf. . . y." My name echoes through my mind, fading in and out like bad reception on one of those old television sets. "uf. . .y."

I place my tongue between my lips and concentrate on the miniature needle and thread in my hand. Just have to get the thread through the tiny opening. Then, I can finish the job.

"BUFFY!"

The sound overwhelms my eardrums, and I jerk, stabbing the needle into my finger. "Ouch! Dammit!" I make sure I transmit my exclamation with my mind.

"Bloody hell!" I giggle because this time the voice is outside my head and about thirty feet away.

Spike peeks around the corner of the cabin porch to glare at me. "That hurt, woman!"

"Serves you right for shouting at me and making me stick myself!" I retort playfully. My ears catch more grumbling from Spike's direction. "Come on; keep practicing."

"I don't want to." Even after hundreds of years, Spike has an uncanny knack for sounding like a little kid sometimes, which is one of the many reasons I love him.

"You're doing good; you just need to practice." I'm trying to teach Spike to transmit messages to me with his mind. The technology is new and not easily accessible, but as usual, the Watcher's Council has us testing things out.

Silence. Then, . . . "Buffy. How. . . the sew. . . ?"

"Hush. Like to see you do it," I signal back. I'm trying to sew up a hole in one of Reyni's shirts. "That was better; I could almost hear everything you were trying to say."

"Threaded the needle, yet?"

"Spike, that was perfect!"

I can picture the wide smile on his face. "Thanks, pet!" he returns.

"And no."

"No, what, love?"

"I haven't threaded the needle."

The thread is unraveling against my fingers from repeated moistening and attempts to poke it through the needle hole. Frustrated, I throw the shirt, the needle, and the thread across the porch with an exasperated moan and stomp over to Spike, plunking myself down beside him.

I speak aloud, "I hate sewing!"

Spike is trying hard not to smile too big, and he pats my bare knee. "Why are you doing that again?"

"Because we're on this darned retreat with Reyni, and we're supposed to teach her survival skills."

Reyni is the slayer, and at nineteen, the Council decided that she should have what they termed "survival skills." Several Council members believed that the slayer should train for any situation, so they commissioned a few acres of land to be transformed into an artificial "field" training ground. Only problem is, the type of training ground they created doesn't exist anymore. Trees, grass, wild animals, and cabins do not exist except in fantasy rooms or vids or museums.

"Since when has a slayer ever had to worry about clothes or sewing?" Spike wonders with a smirk.

"That's what I'd like to know. You'd think 'field training' would be more realistic."

"Maybe they're trying to teach me what it used to be like," Reyni speculates as she exits the cabin. Petite and shorter than me, the current slayer has shoulder-length dark hair with natural curls that float about her shoulders when she moves or talks.

Unlike Ayledan, Reyni comes from a two-parent home and went to the learning institute to become a musician. She and Spike both play the piano and have spent many an hour challenging each other musically. In the past, the amount of time they spend together might have made me jealous, but since Spike and I have been training slayers and acting as their guardians, they have been like our daughters. Watchers still play a role in training but are actually more specialized in research now.

"Trust me; Buffy never sewed," Spike notes, squeezing my thigh.

I slap his hand in false horror. "Hey! How many wounds of yours did I stitch up?"

"Hmm. Quite a few, I suppose, but you never mended clothing," he insists. He grins and adds, "You just bought new outfits."

"Hey!" I protest again; then, I pause. "That's true."

Crossing her arms, Reyni laughs and leans against a support pole on the porch. "You guys are goofy."

Spike peers up at her solemnly. "We try."

I pat my lover on the head, enjoying the feel of his now honey-blond curls against my fingers. "*Spike* does quite well at it. Me, I'm not very good, yet."

Spike twists his head and nudges my hand down from atop his head, planting a kiss on my palm and nibbling the tip of one of my fingers. I almost lose track of where I am when his eyes meet mine.

Disrupting my reverie, Reyni quietly clears her throat, and I glance up blushing. Spike is grinning. . . cocky boy.

"So, where are we going this evening?"

The sun disappeared below the horizon only an hour ago. Sunrises and sunsets are about the only thing that hasn't changed about Earth's environment. With new technology that was invented by demons, Spike and I can watch a sunrise or sunset behind a specially designed window built into a wall. The new windows are terribly expensive, so we're lucky to have one in our city home. I, for one, have enjoyed the amenity greatly.

Spike glances at me. Actually, he's never stopped looking at me. Sometimes he watches me as if he's never seen me before. . . even after centuries. "Where are we going, oh fearless leader?"

I punch him softly on the upper arm as a signal to stop teasing and tell Reyni, "Back to the woods. . . third quadrant for some live practice."

Reyni's energy is pouring off her in the uncontrollable fashion of youth. "Oooo. What kind of demon?"

"Doig'ash," Spike inserts.

"Weird name. What the heck are they?" Like me, Reyni has never been good about studying the books although her Watcher, Vincent, would like her to be.

In this area, Spike is the expert, so I let him take over. "Doig'ash are forest green, about six and a half feet tall, and covered in scales. They tend to live in marshy areas and feed off wildlife that lives there."

"Hence, why we're going to quadrant three," I interject. "Although they don't live there out in the real world because there aren't marshes. But they do live in other damp places. . . like the underground."

"So," Reyni asks, "how do we kill them? And why? They don't sound so dangerous."

Spike nods as if he knew Reyni was going to ask that very question. "Well, in the past, we wouldn't have bothered, but since there's a shortage of wildlife for food, they've a tendency to feed on humans."

"Ah, that would be of the bad."

* * *

3000, about thirty minutes later

"How many are there?" I ask Reyni. She is to use her senses to determine where and how many demons there are.

Spike has not gone out with us tonight; he's staying at the cabin, making the necessary communications with the Council. Dressed in black and with our hair pulled back, Reyni and I are crouched in the marsh near the location of the Doig'ash demons.

She reaches outward with her heightened slayer powers. After a few seconds, she whispers back, "Three. . . one near the trees over there." She points to the left. "And two in the cave to the right."

"Very good. And how do you kill them?"

"With these." She lifts up two foot-long, silver-plated knives between us almost directly in my face. "Because silver is like poison in their bloodstream. . . goes straight to their hearts and stops them beating."

"Right." I push her hand and the knives down. "Be careful. Doig'ash have long arms and are quite fast even though they're big. And you have to go for the major arteries. And where are they?"

Reyni moves her feet to redistribute her weight. "Umm. In the neck and upper thigh."

"Right. Any weaknesses?"

"Problems hearing. So, they're easy to sneak up on." She bites her lip. "Okay."

"All yours." I nod toward the demon on the left.

"Right." Reyni stares at the nearby demon.

Paying careful attention to her every move, I record her fight with the first Doig'ash demon. Reyni, Spike, and I will analyze her moves and strategy later. I'm simply here to make sure Reyni doesn't get badly hurt. She takes the first demon in record time and manages the other two with ease. Within a few minutes of her exiting the hiding place, I follow and join her in standing over the corpse of one of the demons.

"Buffy, where does the Council get these demons?"

"What do you mean?"

She squats next to the demon and lifts his arm. "Look."

Oddly, the dead demon has a vid messenger attached to his wrist. Curious, I push the button on the tiny machine, and Reyni and I step back to watch.

A young woman dressed in a simple black pantsuit and cloak appears before us. Her long red hair is blowing around her, and her face transforms into ridges, fangs, and yellow eyes. She does not open her mouth, but her voice echoes eerily in the silent marsh. "Come, slayer. Come and discover your destiny." Her body folds inwardly until she is an ebony ball that disappears to reveal a set of location coordinates, which I quickly memorize. The vid ends and shuts off.

Reyni shivers and looks at me with questions written in her eyes. I frown.

"What's wrong?" she asks worriedly. "Do you know what this is about?"

"I know who the vamp is."

"Y-you do?"

"Come on. We need to go tell Spike about this."

"Is it bad?"

"Yes, Reyni, I do believe it is."


	22. Chapter 22

3000, several minutes later

"Richard."

Richard, the half-Torakal demon, appears in actual size in the living area of the cabin. Of course, he's not physically present because we are just calling him. He's wearing an old-fashioned white apron on his tall form, and a jaunty, mismatched hat caps his head. His long tail swirls around him like a cat's tail with a mind of its own as he juggles a large pan and spoon in his hands.

"Buffy, I haven't heard from you in a while," Richard says in his usual happy-go-lucky manner. He swipes his hat off, uncovering tousled curls. "And Spike. And Reyni." He gives a little bow to Reyni.

I laugh in spite of the grave news I have to share. Richard has always had the ability to make me smile. "I didn't know anyone cooked anymore with the advent and perfection of the food dispensers."

"Guess I'm sort of into more primitive forms of art." He grins, setting the pan and spoon aside so that they disappear from view. He props himself against a cabinet and crosses his arms. "What can I do for you?"

"Have you heard anything about a new uprising in the demon world?"

Because Richard is no longer working with slayers, he has somehow wedged himself halfway back into the demon world. He remains a valuable source of information for Spike and I when we come across something that looks like trouble.

A concentrated look crosses over his face, and he's silent for a minute, his tail the only body part moving. "No. Actually, I haven't. Why?"

Spike's voice rises from behind me, "Buffy and Reyni ran across a Council-picked Doig'ash demon tonight. The demon's dead, but he carried a vid message about the slayer and destiny, and it came with a set of location coordinates."

Richard's eyes brightened. "Hmmm. That's interesting."

"Yeah," Spike continues, "Real interesting. The vamp who delivered the message was real interesting, too."

"Who?"

"She has red hair now, but we think it was Lydia," I supply, sitting forward in my chair.

"Lydia?" Richard sounds surprised. "I haven't heard a thing about her since the battle with Nabald's crew."

"Seems she might have been one of the vamps who escaped."

Reyni interrupts, "Umm. Who's Lydia?"

I glance back at her. "Lydia was a vampire in Nabald's faction when Spike and I infiltrated. That was about three hundred twenty-five years ago. She didn't like Spike and I very much."

"Pet, she was jealous of you," Spike mentions, raising his eyebrows at me.

"Really?" Reyni is intrigued.

"No," I respond insistently. "She just didn't trust us."

"No, love, she came onto me. I rejected her."

I fire an unspoken message into his mind, "What? When?" The low throb of rage fills my body. Why is he telling me this? "How come you didn't tell me?" I ask aloud.

Spike shrugs. "Knew your temper. Didn't need you flying off the handle and blowing our cover."

Allowing a little golden glow to come through in my eyes, I shoot daggers at the vampire across from me. "Bastard," I growl into his mind. He blanches slightly at the name-calling that only he can hear, and Reyni's eyes widen. She's seen us fight before, and she knows what to expect. Although she usually leaves the room when she senses the other shoe about to be dropped, now she's stuck because she doesn't want to be impolite to Richard.

"Don't look at me like that. You know it's true," Spike retorts but less strongly than normal. He knows better than to banter with me too much in front of guests.

Swallowing my anger and making a mental note to address the issue later. . . not much later, I return my gaze to Richard who is watching with a half-embarrassed, half-amused smile. "Sorry."

Richard seems to be fairly amused as if he expects displays of temper from us. "It's okay. What do you need me to do?"

I nod. "Keep your ear to the demon world. Listen for any rumors about what might be going on. . . with vamps and for any news on somebody being after the slayer."

"After Reyni?"

Frowning uncertainly, I reply, "I'm not sure."

Coming to my side, Spike places his hand firmly on my shoulder. I resist the urge to shrug his touch away. "Would you mind checking the coordinates for us, too, mate? On our little retreat here, we have minimal technology."

"Okay. . . give me an hour. I'll get a quick picture of what's going down. And then, I'll do a more thorough search for info later." Richard winks at Reyni. "Reyni, try not to worry. We'll help you figure this out."

Then, he is gone as if he had never been present.

Throwing off Spike's hand as rudely as possible, I am on my feet and whirl to confront him. "What the hell was that about?" I ignore the flicker of panic that crosses Reyni's face.

The corners of Spike's mouth threaten to lift. "What, pet?"

I advance on my lover, and he takes a step back. "You know very well what."

"The thing about Lydia?" he asks in a small voice that's tinged with amusement. . . amusement that pisses me off even more.

"Yeah! The *thing* about Lydia."

"What about it?"

"You know damn well what!" I repeat and glare, my skin tingling more with each phrase he utters. How does he know how to push all the right buttons, and why do I still let him push them after all this time? I know the answer, but at the moment, I don't like it. "I don't like that you kept that from me!"

"What?" I say nothing but plant my hands on my hips. Spike attempts to look helpless. In reality, he's loving every minute of his act. "The thing about Lydia coming on to me?"

"Duh!" I roll my eyes.

"I explained my reasoning when we were talking with Richard," he states calmly.

"Not well enough!"

"What do you mean?"

I want to hit him, but I restrain myself. . . .no small feat for me when I'm angry. "What exactly happened? Tell me from the beginning." Okay, that sounds firm but not too aggressive.

"But it happened over three hundred and twenty-five years ago," he protests.

"Pffff! What's that to us? Tell me everything. Now." I am standing on tiptoe with my face inches from his, my toes digging into the thick carpet and every muscle alert.

"Okay, okay." He places his hands on my upper arms, and I allow him to force me down. I cross my arms, waiting impatiently. "It happened when you were out that one day, you know, the day you came back with all the blood from Joyger's messenger?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Well, Nabald said I was free to take advantage of the other females among the group. He offered me the pick of his little harem. Had them all parade in front of me one at a time, wearing next to nothing."

"What?!" Nabald better be glad he is already dead.

"Yeah. When it was Lydia's turn, Nabald got called away for a minute."

"Yeah, right. Conveniently."

"Will you let me finish the story, pet? Then, you can make all the comments you want."

Sticking out my bottom lip, I pout but remain silent.

A faint beeping noise echoes in our heads. Someone's trying to call us back. Spike and I don't move, but a frozen Reyni gains her bearings and heads into the other room to respond to the call.

Spike continues, "Well, she approached me. . . "

"Let me guess, all flirtatious. Did she take her clothes off?"

Now Spike is getting annoyed with my interruptions; I can read his frustration in the way he holds his body. He sighs, "No, pet, she didn't. But she did try to kiss me."

"What?!" Lydia is dead if I ever find her. "And what did you do?" I demand.

"Pushed her off of me. What do you think I bloody did?!"

"Oh." My heart lifts; my arms relax. I need to hear that he was noble.

"Yeah. And she didn't take too kindly to it either. She asked me what was wrong with me."

Now that I know what happened, I'm merely curious. "What did you say?"

"I told her that I loved you, that I was committed to you." Guiltily, I reach out to stroke his arm. He flinches away, which is a reaction I deserve. "Thought you trusted me, love."

My stomach aching, I reply, "I-I do."

"Got a funny way of showing it." He refuses to meet my eyes with his.

Holding my elbows in my palms, I whisper, "I get jealous about that kind of thing, I guess. Don't want anyone else to have you. It just hurt that you didn't tell me then."

Spike can't stand to know I hurt, and his arms encircle me tightly. I relax gratefully against his familiar form, laying my head and palms against his chest. "Oh, pet, I know." After a few seconds, he adds, "Now you know why I didn't want to tell you at the time. Knew you'd react like this."

I laugh, letting loose the pressure in my body. "Guess you're right as usual. How come you're usually right?" I prop my chin against his body and stare up at him with a smile.

He shrugs. "Dunno. Just know who I'm dealing with I suppose."

A thought suddenly pops into my mind. "Is that why she made the comment about getting a room when I got back with the blood?"

He smiles widely, flashing teeth. "Yeah."

Bending over me, he kisses my collarbone and moves up my throat until he reaches my mouth. My body sends a rush of tingles dancing over my skin. However, before he can kiss me good and proper on the mouth, Reyni interrupts our moment.

"Hate to interfere with the makeup session, but Richard just talked with me about those location coordinates." She sounds more worried than amused.

Spike and I break away, but he keeps his arm around my waist. "What did he say?" I ask, trying to brush off the desire that ripples through me.

"Well, apparently, it wasn't too hard for him to figure out cause it's the location of an international news broadcast." Reyni looks too tired for her age.

"Really."

"Yeah, apparently, there are bodies."

"Bodies?" Spike queries. "How many? Human or demon? When?"

"Over two hundred. Human. It happened tonight. Apparently, there was some kind of magic involved."

"Damn." The use of magic worries me because it might mean someone really powerful was involved. "We'd better check it out before the sun comes up."


	23. Chapter 23

3000, fifteen minutes later

The body in front of us is burned beyond recognition, threads of clothing woven with blackened flesh. I squat near the lifeless form, balancing on my fingertips and studying the damage. Where tissue was once plump and probably soft, muscle is laid bare and cheekbones and teeth flash stark white like dominoes against charred, flaky black. Tufts of blond hair detach themselves in clumps from the destruction and float away in the breeze. My hand tentatively touches the corpse's arm, and I try not to flinch at the icy cold. The smell is horrendous. . . like rotten meat and is laced with. . .

"Magic," Spike supplies from directly behind me. He steps to the side and squats next to me, forearms on his knees. His elbow brushes my thigh, and I lean into his touch.

The sound of Reyni retching in the background is not unexpected. She's probably never seen anything like this in her young life, and I know I have to let her get the initial reaction out of her system.

"That's what we thought because there's no sign of flammable substances." Rhonda Zaiman, an international police investigator with cropped dark hair and petite frame, does not join us near the body but remains upright. As the youngest investigator on the team, she's the most ambitious. She's already been at the crime scene for three hours and probably doesn't need or want to re-examine the damage. "But I'm glad you're here to confirm."

Since the existence of vampires and demons has become public knowledge, the world government and criminal investigators have worked closely with the Watchers' Council. Hence, Spike and I occasionally assist in cases in which demon activity has been suspected. Rhonda is one of our favorite members of the force because she's the only one who takes our word, runs with it, and actually sometimes brings demons to justice.

"But what kind of magic would do all this?" Looking a little green around the gills, Reyni sways slightly next to us. She gestures at the artificial field around us. "And why?"

The two hundred bodies are strewn across the field, some in piles, some alone. All are human, and the only signs of life are the rescue workers who dot the carnage, bagging bodies to be brought to the autopsy scan and then the public incinerator. Reporter droids line the edge of the force field seal just beyond the reach of the victims. The international press is probably having a field day. Disasters of this magnitude are virtually unheard of nowadays.

"Lydia couldn't have done all this by herself," I speculate, giving Spike a glance.

"No." Spike and I rise. "She couldn't."

"Who's Lydia?" Rhonda asks, confusion playing across her features.

Reyni's eyes widen. "Don't ask."

Rhonda raises her eyebrows, demanding more from us. As a group, we start toward Rhonda's co-workers, lieutenants who work under her in investigating crime scenes.

Spike plays diplomat. "A vampire we knew a long time ago. Buffy and Reyni got a message from her this evening on a Council-chosen demon at our training camp. She gave us coordinates for this location."

"Really?" Rhonda pushes a button on her wrist computer, starting a recorder. "Tell me everything you know about her."

"Well, we don't know much," I reply. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Spike smirk at me. I bite back my temper. "When we were infiltrating Nabald's facility. . ."

"Nabald, the vampire?" Rhonda looks surprised.

"Yeah."

"That's interesting." She puts her index finger to her lips, deep in thought.

As we pass by a passel of as yet untouched bodies, Spike picks a stray vid-bulletin off one of the corpses.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my stomach churning with fresh nerves.

"The humans in this field. They were experts in demonology. They were meeting for their annual international convention. And the topic was. . ."

Spike interrupts, "Vampires with a particular focus on Nabald."

"Yep. Lydia definitely has something to do with this," Reyni states the obvious.

We reach the portable transport where Spike, Reyni, and I arrived. An officer hands Rhonda a tray with cups of coffee for all of us.

"Thanks," Rhonda flashes a smile at the equally young officer and takes the tray.

Spike adds sugar and cream from the condiments generator to coffee for Reyni and me, and I take the proffered mug gratefully. The wind is chilly, but the fear makes me shiver. The coffee helps me hide my feelings.

"Lydia couldn't have done this by herself," I summarize for Rhonda. "She had some kind of help with this. Although it's been over three hundred years,. . ." I earn a slight choke from Spike because he's mid- sip. "There's no way that she could have attained skills in magic this strong. She definitely has help in her endeavor, and for some reason, she wants us involved in this case. Spike and I'll put our ears to our demon contacts. You investigate what you can here. We'll check back in a few hours with what we find out."

"Sounds good." Rhonda nods.

"What can I do?" Reyni protests, cupping her cup in both hands. Her nose is red from the cold, and she seems to have gotten some of her bearings back even though she turns her head when the officers bring a body or two by.

"You can help Spike and I," I consent, brushing a stray hair out of my face.

"Phew. No more training? Real stuff now?"

Spike winks at her in big brotherly fashion. "Yeah, bit."

"Good. I was sick of the training."

"I could tell," he teases referring to her upset stomach from earlier, dodging her light punch as we enter the transport.

* * *

3000, twenty-two minutes later

The underground demon recreation bar is one of the most popular in the Western hemisphere. Their attractions include demon prostitution and orgies, high stakes blood gambling, fantasy vid-making, and mind-mutating combat. Dim lighting, thick crowds, and killer drinks (literally) brought in even the lowliest creatures. . . and also the most sinister. Tonight is no exception.

Spike and I left Reyni with Richard to explore some of the less dangerous demon haunts, taking on "The Blood Room" without them. Richard provided us with our demon personas as well as the matching mirage technology. The owner of the bar is no pushover like the human Willy from centuries ago. After two successful assassination attempts, he installed form transformation detectors in the entrances. If a demon or human attempts to enter in a magical guise, he or she is cut dead on the spot. Thus, we had to use guise-producing technology. Unfortunately, no such technology exists. . . unless one knows Richard.

Therefore, we enter the bar with ease disguised as Morna demons. The floor is slick with unknown liquid and various recognizable demon fluids that make me wrinkle my nose. . . if I had a nose. The entry room is fairly free of demons and cluttered with empty scuffed chairs and tables. The main area branches off into several hallways, and various demon languages and other bodily noises filter loudly from the hidden clusters of rooms. A bar lines the back of the main room, and various demon heads are mounted from above the mirror on the rear wall. A few of them are still moving as if they have been freshly slaughtered. However, the bartender is neat, and no demon corpses litter the place.

I glimpse myself in the mirror and bite back a gasp. . . partly because I haven't seen myself in a mirror in I don't even recall how many years and partly because. . . I'm extremely ugly.

Spike chuckles, and his voice emits in a rasp that does not fit his tone. "What did you think we'd look like, pet?"

My mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. I'm afraid to speak because I might sound as bad as I appear. Finally, I utter in a guttural whisper, "Morna demons aren't very attractive."

They aren't. Although my body is humanoid, my head is shaped like a large grey melon with scales. I have no nose because the large apparatus on either side of my head serves as my hearing and breathing organ. My mouth is a purple slash with swollen lips that when pressed together look like a plum, and my eyes are thumb-sized bulbs on the ends of thick stalks that protrude three inches off my face.

Spike's laugh raises an octave in Morna tone. "You saw me after. . . you know. Why are you surprised?"

"I don't know. I guess I thought the females would be prettier." I blink up at him, having no idea how I actually appear in his eyes. "And I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

"Ahhh."

A slender vampire, whom I estimate has been a demon less than one hundred years, slips behind the bar from one of the hallways. He palms a glass bottle and places one hand flat on the bar's surface. I know he is a vampire because he's not breathing and he casts no reflection. "May I help you? Would you like a Xartok slug sour?" he asks in a smooth international tongue, offering us a traditional Morna drink.

A bit jolted by his sudden entrance, I scoot behind Spike as a proper Morna female does with her mate.

Spike bobs his dastardly head, saying, "No, no drink. We're looking for someone actually."

Sliding the bottle back in place, the vampire hides his disappointment easily. "You sure you're not interested in the vid- fantasies? We just got a new one in with Wiglou demons."

I have no idea what a Wiglou demon is. Spike shakes his head.

"Well, maybe I can help you. Who?"

"Prenwick. We're looking to talk with Prenwick," Spike asserts confidently.

Run of the mill demons don't know about Prenwick, so the bartender's frown deepens as expected. He throws aside a towel that he was using to wipe the bar down. "All right. Follow me."

The vampire leads us down one of the quiet hallways. No demons line the halls and no recreation rooms are present. The hallway seems to be a dead end, but the vampire pauses in front of the stone and does not move, apparently engaging in some sort of mind data transfer. Spike and I glance at each other. Demons in possession of such technology are virtually nil, especially in a context such as "The Blood Room."

The stone disappears effortlessly and then reappears as we cross the threshold. The area on the other side of the stone is a stark contrast to the atmosphere of the bar. . . clean and technologically sophisticated. I file the information away for later. We follow the bartender wordlessly, and I evoke the mind technology the Watcher's Council has us testing.

"Spike," I mentally transmit. "You notice how advanced this place is?"

Spike reaches back and squeezes my hand tenderly. I feel the uncertainty about our situation in his grip. Maybe that is why his voice came clear as a bell in my head. "Yeah, pet, I do."

"What are we getting ourselves into?"

The bartender stops when we reach a small room, decorated in the current trends in interior design in human homes. He sits in a chair in the center of the room and motions for us to sit across from him. Spike and I hesitate but settle down.

"Before you meet with Prenwick. I'm supposed to ask some questions. Don't worry. They're standard questions to screen for those who might be playing games with Prenwick."

Alarm swirls in my abdomen, but I don't dare look at Spike, much less send him a mind message.

He crosses his legs and rubs his hands together. "Now. What is your business with Prenwick?"

Spike lifts his wrist, showing his wrist computer. "May I?"

"Of course." The vampire brandishes his own computer to accept the information.

The vampire scans over the information Spike gives him. . . some old Watcher's Council data that appears legit and fresh but is actually quite dated and unusable. Richard says that no one should be able to tell the difference. Apparently, the false information does its job because a slow smile spreads over the vampire's face, revealing his pointed teeth.

Spike snaps his wrist back before all the data can be processed. "Prenwick gets the real stuff. This is just a sample."

The vampire is disappointed. "What do you want from him?"

Here's where we try the alibi. Spike takes a deep breath. "We want to be in on whatever he's planning. We heard from a reliable source that he's got several people working on a something big, and we want to offer our aid in exchange for a piece of the action."

Luckily, Morna demons are known for their love of, no, need of action and physical fights. The vampire buys the story. I read the acceptance in his eyes.

"All right." He leans back in his chair, boldly placing his feet in my lap. I am annoyed but merely place my hands to the side. Morna women are known for their passivity in social circles. . . but oddly enough not on the battlefield. "I'm Prenwick." He flashes his demon verification. . . taken as proof in the demon world.

"What?!" I shout in Spike's head.

Luckily, Spike is unruffled. "Great. So, you can help us. What can we do to get more actively involved?"

"Go to this location." He transmits some coordinates to Spike's computer, simultaneously receiving the Council information. "Wait for more information." He removes his feet, allowing Spike and I to stand. "And, by the way, I know you're vampires. Nice disguises."

My heart plunges, and now I find my voice, "So, how did you know?"

Prenwick winks at me. "Morna females never sit beside their mates. Only behind. And I have created similar technology myself. Yours is good. I almost didn't catch it."

"How do vampires have this kind of technology?" my mind asks Spike's. Spike doesn't respond.

Prenwick bounces up and guides us back toward the bar area. "What are your names?"

Spike issues the backup names we chose, "I'm Justin, and this is Amber."

Prenwick smiles. "Nice to meet you."

In silence, Spike and I exit the bar. I'm numb with shock at the turn of events. What are we mixed up in now?


	24. Chapter 24

3000, four hours later

Spike and I board that international transport system after reconvening with Richard and Reyni and also contacting the Council about the current situation. We gave them all the information we had, and Reyni took charge, assuring me that she'd be working on the situation from outside. My stomach is an apprehensive knot because I have no idea what's going to happen, but outwardly, I appear as cool and confident as ever. I can't recall how many years have passed since I felt this ominous about something I'm willingly doing.

Of course, Spike senses my tension as we find our seats. "You okay, love?"

Providing him a tight-lipped smile, I tell him a half-truth, "Yeah."

He cradles my hand in his large one in reassurance. "We'll figure this out."

"Yes, I know." I peer up at him with a question in my eyes. "But will we make it out alive?"

He is honest as usual. "I don't know."

"How will we know when to get off?" The world outside the window is cloaked in darkness. Once we start moving, the windows will close, and we will literally fly from place to place close to instantaneously. The train system is useful mainly because public transports are often overcrowded and not everyone can afford a personal transport. The system is also useful for demon travel and avoidance of international criminal justice.

"I have a feeling we'll know, love. Why don't you get some rest."

As people continue to board, I lean my head on his shoulder, trusting him to protect me. A few moments of stolen dozing are likely to be precious in the long run. His arm is strong and unmoving beneath my head, and I feel my muscles relax against him. Lost in the cloud of muddled thoughts, I notice his strong fingers sweeping slowly and soothingly through my long hair and massaging my scalp.

* * *

3000, about thirty minutes later

"We're here."

My mind is instantly alert as I blink off sleep. "Where are we?"

"New View."

Known for high crime rates, New View is a major city in what used to be North America. Somehow, I'm not surprised that we're here. "How?"

"The android ticket taker. When it came by to check our passage id's, it gave me the stop and a new place to go once we disembark." Reading my mind, he adds, "I sent the coordinates to Richard and Reyni."

"Good." We climb off the train transport and head toward the nearest public transport. People are swarming around the main area, and we sweep past them, Spike using his taller form to plow me a path. Just before we enter the transport, I pull him down into a gentle kiss, which he deepens eagerly, and I feel the stirrings of an indescribable desire flowing through me. I open my eyes to search for his and am overcome as usual by the passion in them. "Have I told you how much I love your hair like this. . . all soft and un-styled, and curly?"

"No, but I love you, too, Buffy." He smirks, and I grin.

"Let's go."

We enter the transport, and Spike transfers the coordinates from his wrist computer. In the few seconds until we arrive, I whisper, "Love you." Spike slips an arm around my waist and then, squeezes and releases me, as we face the door.

Dressed in a light green jumper that matches his icy eyes, Prenwick opens the door with his eyes alight. "Welcome to my humble facility. You are about to join an organization that will change the world forever. First, you get a tour." His eyes rake over my small frame, and I suddenly wish that I'd cut my long blond hair short again. "I must say, you look better in your true forms."

An unconscious growl emits from my throat, and the bones in my face start to shift as I glare at him.

He holds up his hands palms toward Spike and me. "Hey. No harm meant." My demon calms. "But I like the spunk you got in your woman, Justin."

Spike doesn't reply. "I'm ready to get started, mate. Amber can take care of herself." Annoyance at Spike flashes through me, but I don't let him show that his change in demeanor affects me. I'm sure he knows without me having to say anything.

Prenwick chuckles, and in a display of trust, he turns his back on us, leading us down a stark, bright hallway that is a stark contrast to the dim cave-like quality of "The Blood Room." He pauses outside a thinly outline door in the wall. "What you're about to see will blow you away."

Then, he simply walks through the door and disappears, presumably on the other side. I glance at Spike. Raising his eyebrows, he shrugs his shoulders and goes through the solid wall without hesitation. Sighing reluctantly, I follow.

Not surprisingly, the wall isn't solid, and I only feel a faint tingle as I close my eyes and rush through.

What does surprise me is what I view when my world is lit again. Thankfully, my jaw stays firmly shut.

I barely hear Prenwick say, "This is 'Rapture.'" He spreads his arms wide and turns around to gesture at the sight before us.

The three of us are standing on an indoor balcony at the top of a large open area that stretches down for over ten stories. The base of the facility is divided into two well-lit parts. The first is a lounge with synthetic plants and large comfortable chairs that would swallow me but would fit the largest demons just perfectly. The other half is a large computer network system, complete with what I recognize as some of the most recent technology though some of the equipment is a bit dated. Frankly, I find it scary how I'm able to recognize things like that now. Buffy of old didn't know zip drive from a hard drive. Aside from the base floor, the different levels each have several rooms with clear glass walls so that I can see what is happening.

Throughout the facility, demons are engaged in various activities. . . some of which I don't understand. Now why didn't I study up on my demon lore like Spike told me? I haven't seen this large a collection of demons since. . .

"Pet, this reminds me of the Initiative. . . only without the bonehead scientists running about." Spike's voice sounds amplified in my head.

"And without the demons in cells," I transmit to Spike. "Spike, what's that demon doing over there?" A demon the color of deep red wine seems to be working on a piece of some sort of technology, and tiny Tinkerbell-esque lights are flashing all around him. "And why does it smell funny in here?" The smell is like a mixture of manure, musk, and the magic from the crime scene from earlier.

Because I'm speaking into his mind, Spike, of course, has no clue where or what I view. "Well, it smells in here because that's what you get for inviting the Lingmith demons in groups of two of more to congregate in one place."

"Oh."

"And where are you looking?"

"Over there."

"Love, that tells me nothing. . . say something out loud, so. . ."

"You may be wondering what is going on here." Prenwick seems to be unnervingly psychic today. "See that Tuopei demon over there." He points to the exact demon I have been studying but attempting not to stare at.

I nod to Prenwick and say internally to Spike, "That one." Spike grunts in reply.

Prenwick continues, "He's learning to fuse his magic with a transport device that he built so that all he has to do is think a thought, and he will be transported anywhere in the world."

"Wow." I'm genuinely stunned.

"You see, our goal is to train demons to use their natural, inborn talents for magic and any other special abilities they might have to improve their lot in life. . . to improve demon lives." Prenwick is starting to sound very scary. "In addition to fusing pure mechanics and technology with magic, we are also attempting to unite magic with other fields, such as the medical field, psychology, the arts, and others. I realize it's a lofty goal, but one that will make things a lot better for the demons in this world. . . to prepare us."

Spike asks the question that I have on the tip of my tongue, "To prepare us for what?" Whenever Spike feels nervous, his normally faded British accent sneaks in a little, and I catch the edge in his voice.

A smile spreads over Prenwick's face. "I'm glad you asked, Miss Summers, Mr. Henderson." He raises his hands and snaps his fingers.

My eyes widen, and my muscles tighten, but before either Spike or I have time to regroup, four large demons of an unknown variety appear behind us seemingly out of nowhere. In a whirl of seconds, Spike and I pinned against the wall, and Prenwick is pacing back and forth in front of us with his hand to his chin in a gesture that reminds me vaguely of Rhonda's thoughtful movement earlier today.

"Now, let's see. What shall I do now that the famed Buffy Summers. . ." Why does everyone call me by my first and last name and attach "famed" to it? ". . . and William the Bloody have attempted to infiltrate? Don't look so shocked. I knew you were coming. In fact, you're only here because I let you get this far. I have something I want to share with you."

He ceases his panther-like march in front of me. His fingers are like ice cubes roving over my cheek, and I hold back a shiver. "I have some thoughts. . . about pleasuring you, Miss Summers."

This time Spike reacts by shifting into vampire face and lunging at Prenwick. The demons virtually throw him back into the wall so that a loud echo flows through the air. Prenwick takes the moment to laugh at Spike, so I use the distraction to chomp down on Prenwick's hand and kick my legs forward, knocking him to the ground. The demons holding me tighten their grip until stars flood my vision, and my knees buckle from the pain.

Prenwick hops lightly to his feet, sucking on the bleeding wound in his hand. He is far from angry. In fact, he laughs. "Cute, very cute, Miss Summers. May I call you 'Buffy?'"

When I just glare at him, eyes burning yellow, he continues, "Well, Buffy, we'll see how you fare after a few days in here. You may just give in to me, yet. But first, we have to finish the tour." His eyes never leave me, and he orders, "Take them to the meeting room. I'll meet you there."

* * *

3000, five minutes later

Spike and I are seated in two synthetic leather chairs across from a large cherry-wood desk in a spacious study. Real paper books, or else the illusion of books, line the walls in floor to ceiling bookcases. A fireplace is nearby with a holographic fire blazing. I know no vampire would have a real fire anywhere near him or her although the glow and smell are amazingly realistic. Two more chairs are positioned behind the desk, no doubt soon to be filled.

The demons who brought us here are long gone, and we are held to the chairs with invisible barriers. To try to break the barrier meant certain death. I am amazed that they have the technology because it is something only the international police force possesses.

"Pet?" Spike transmits warily to my brain.

"Yeah?" I try not to sound too tired.

"You okay?"

"Yep. I'm fine. Guess we expected this going in, huh?"

"True. We'll figure a way out of this, I promise. And if we can't figure it out, we know that Reyni and Richard have our location. If we don't. . ."

I finish for him, "Contact them in twenty-four hours, they're contacting the Council and coming after us."

A noise at the door behind us alerts me, and this time, I hear a heartbeat that I know Prenwick doesn't have. This time, my mouth does fall and remain open.

"A-amy?"

Long brown hair, swirling unnaturally about her face and eyes black as inkwells, Willow's fellow-Wiccan friend stands before Spike and me. . . ten centuries after she is supposed to be long dead.


	25. Chapter 25

3000, seconds later

Prenwick laughs at my shocked expression. "Didn't expect this, did you, Buffy?" His tone has a way of sounding kind, gentle while making me feel like I'm being stripped naked and violated.

"Not really." My voice carries a self-assurance that I do not actually possess. "Amy, what are you doing here? How?"

The witch smiles, pearly teeth contrasting with her midnight eyes. She sits calmly in the chair across from me, dressed in a filmy grey dress that appears to flow like her thick hair. "Actually, I'm not Amy. . . at least, not the Amy you knew."

"What do you mean?" I'm confused.

Amy glances at Prenwick as if silently asking for his permission. He nods. "I am a clone of your friend."

Spike speaks my thoughts, "Cloning of whole creatures has been outlawed for centuries."

Amy ducks her head almost shyly, flirtatiously. "Yes, but Prenwick's team did it here. . . in the labs here. He raised me as his own. I *am* Amy, just not the Amy you remember." Prenwick places a protective arm around his charge as he situates himself next to her.

Now her youthful appearance and aura makes sense to me. Still doesn't make me feel better about her interest in Spike. I direct a question at Prenwick, "How'd you get Amy's DNA?"

"You know as well as I do that everyone's DNA has been on public file since the early twenty-first century." He smirks at me while Amy is staring blatantly at Spike.

Keeping my eyes blankly on Prenwick, I choose not to respond but project to Spike, "Why Amy?"

Spike's voice sweeps reassuringly through my mind, "The better question, love, is why does he need a powerful witch? Why does he need the magic? Pet, I'm letting you ask the questions. Prenwick's more likely to try and impress you. We'll get more information."

My brain works fast and furious. Aloud to Prenwick, I ask, "So, how did you know Amy was a witch. . . a powerful witch?"

Amusement fills his eyes. "Watcher's journals."

"And how did you get a hold of those?"

"How do you think?"

He's playing with me, and I hate it. "The Watcher's journals aren't as easy to obtain as the DNA."

"I have my ways."

"The only way would be. . ." The truth rushes through me like dawning horror. "There's someone working for you on the Council."

Prenwick claps his hands together like I'm a child who's solved a riddle. His grin is obnoxious. "Bravo, Buffy, bravo."

I swallow my shock. "Still doesn't tell us why you need such powerful magic."

Amy's asserts herself, "Oh, it's not just me. Prenwick's cloned several of the most powerful witches and warlocks for his plan."

"Willow?" I transmit silently and fearfully to Spike.

However, I receive no response from Spike. Instead, Prenwick replies to my anxious visage, "Not your Willow. I couldn't control someone as free- spirited as the Watcher's journals describe her to be."

Unbidden relief flows through my mind. "Good. That's as it should be."

Prenwick frowns slightly. "I suppose. And you being here is as it should be. Don't you want to know why I've brought you here?"

"Other than to keep us from mucking up your plans?" I snap, not bothering to hide my annoyance.

"Well, yes, there is that part," he acknowledges thoughtfully, "But, I do have other plans for you and Spike."

"And they are?"

He smiles broadly. "I want you to witness the end to humankind."

"Okay, and what harebrained scheme do you have in mind?"

At my tone, Spike echoes in my head, "Careful, pet."

Prenwick gestures to Amy to tell the story. She becomes more animated in response to his attention. She makes certain to talk directly to Spike, ignoring me. "Yes. The end. You see, the demons in this world have been made to suffer for too long, to be subjected to endless cruelty in the face of mankind. Now, it is their turn to have the upper hand."

Spike takes the cue with the grace of a pro, "How, pet?"

Flicking her hair over her shoulder, Amy giggles at his use of endearment with her. "Through the 'Rapture,' of course."

I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying anything, but I silently relay to Spike, "The burned bodies have something to do with this."

Spike agrees with me, and asks, "The bodies. What were you trying to do with them?"

"The bodies in the field you were sent to?" Amy pauses for effect, and I want to kick her. "We're. . . the witches like me. . . are still working on focusing our power. We haven't been able to get it right from distances just yet, so that's why the bodies got all burned up, but we're getting be. . ."

Prenwick interrupts, "I think what Amy is trying to say is that we are working on a way to send all the humans in this world and on Mars and the moon to an alternative dimension. . . hopefully, a nice hell dimension. And we plan to do it instantaneously. . . at a future scheduled time. . . which means soon. The witches are gaining strength, and they were already able to make a whole city of people disappear only an hour ago."

At his words, my legs feel weak even though I'm still seated. His focus is me, so I speak next, "Like reverse rapture in the Bible. You twisted the Bible."

"What can I say? As a human, I was a preacher. . . a corrupt preacher but a preacher nonetheless. Either way, I studied the Bible quite extensively."

"Yet, you choose to focus on and distort the one part of the text that suits your goals and plans."

He shrugs indifferently. "Well, I *am* a demon."

"Not all demons do what you choose to do," I point out angrily.

"You're not going to change my mind, Buffy."

As Prenwick rises to his feet, the chairs to which Spike and I are tied detach from the floor and hover in the air. I glance at Spike, and he regards me without answers to the questions on my face.

Prenwick clears his throat. "Okay. Now I'm going to put you in the holding tank until our final moment. It'll probably be in a couple of days. Try to get some rest to be fresh for the affair."

Prenwick begins directing the chairs to the office door when Amy jumps up. "Sir, may I have Spike for awhile? I'd like to show him something."

"But, of course, my dear. Take him." He hands control of Spike's chair over to his cloned, pseudo-daughter. "Gives me some time to be alone with Buffy. What a marvelous idea."

Alarm blazes through me, and my eyes slam into Spike's. He telegraphs, "I love you, Buffy. Don't worry. No matter what happens."

I barely get in my "I love you, too" before my lover is out of sight.

* * *

3000, minutes later

Prenwick stops my chair's motion after we have reached the end of another long series of corridors that look and smell exactly like the one that led to his office. We pass several demons along the way, many of species that I've before seen.

"Here we are." Pacing around to face me, he places his hands on my thighs, rubbing his fingertips over the clothing covering them. "Now, what shall I do with you?"

I push my legs as far down in the seat as possible in attempt to avoid his touch. "Nothing. Just put me in the cell and go away."

"Ahhh, but I don't think so. I want to play." He brushes a lock of hair over my shoulder, tucking the hair snugly behind my ear. His breath is cool on my skin.

In response, I spit in his face. He draws back in surprise, wiping away the fluid.

"I like my women with bite." The cell door disappears momentarily and forces the chair inside. Entering behind me, he adds, "And my mind wonders what you will do if I release you from the chair, especially if I do this. . ."

Before I realize what is happening, he abuses my space and smashes his lips into mine. I turn my head abruptly, and he laughs long and hard. The restraints on my arms and legs dissipate on his command, and immediately, I lash at him with a firm kick to the jaw and two punches to the abdomen. He groans as he is thrown back but regains his equilibrium, massaging his jaw and smiling while backing out the door. I leap after him but meet with a solid but invisible force field that flings me to the ground.

"Miss Summers, I will break you, yet." Then, he is gone, and the wall is opaque once more.

Climbing to my feet, I circle the dark room, noting the blank brown walls and the small sink along the back wall, the drain in the center of the floor, and the dim bulb above, which I mark as a possible future weapon. To my left, there are two bunks jutting out from the wall. A mattress covers the metal, and on one of them lies. . . someone. . . an unmoving someone.

Warily, I approach the form, wondering if the person, demon, whatever might be dead. As I get closer, something seems familiar about the body. Then, the stray lock of stringy red hair sends recognition to me. . .

"Lydia," I breathe. Hurrying toward her, I balance on the edge of the pallet and tap her shoulder gently. When she doesn't react, I roll her onto her back.

She is awake, but her eyes are slits because the rest of her face is covered in huge purple bruises. My plans to slap her and give her hell for kissing Spike if I ever ran across her were at once gone. Skimming over the rest of her body, I note that the state of her face is likely the state of the rest of her flesh, and compassion washes over me.

"B-buffy?" Lydia sounds hoarse, probably because someone punched her in the neck.


	26. Chapter 26

3000, seconds later

"Lydia, what happened?" I brush strands of red from her face, so she isn't trying to blink them away.

A trembling hand reaches out to touch me. "A-are you really there?"

Gently, I take her cool fingers between my palms, bringing her arm back down. A thousand questions roll through my head, but I choose to repeat the one. "What happened to you?"

She licks her dry, cracked lips and murmurs, "Prenwick."

"That bastard?" Prenwick will now pay dearly. "What's his deal anyway? He's barely over a century old."

Her brown eyes break from mine. "He's my childe, Buffy." I'm not sure how much energy she has, so I give her some time to tell her story. "After Nabald was killed, the remainder of his group banded together for a while, but after a few decades, it wasn't enough. Quite a few of us were picked off by Joyger's remaining followers and other demons. Before I knew it, I was alone. Do you know what it's like to be completely alone?"

She studies me, then, and I do my best to present her a neutral face. The thought of being without someone, of being without the comfort that is uniquely Spike makes shudder involuntarily.

A half-smile transforms her face, and she winces in pain. "So, you do understand. When I met Prenwick, he was a preacher in a local bar, making some deals with a group of Ratchidel demons for money and power over his congregation. I thought I might seduce him for a night of pleasure. I suppose the irony of a 'good' man being so corrupt intrigued me. After the first night, he was hungry for more, which I willingly gave him, and after several months, he took me into his home to kill his wife and children. I became his mistress. Several members of his church figured out what was going on and got him fired. When he lost his job as a preacher, he begged me to turn him."

She pauses as if reassuring herself that I'm okay enough for her to continue. I've heard and seen worse in the last millennium, so she is satisfied with my reaction. "I did so willingly, thinking that I would have someone. . . that I wouldn't be alone anymore. And at first, I was right. Prenwick was my ever-present companion. I taught him the ropes of the demon world. . . I taught him survival. We made love every day, and we hunted every night. Then, he started disappearing from our bed more and more often."

Lydia draws a deep breath and pulls her hand jerkily from my lap as she turns onto her side facing me. "Come to find out, he had gotten himself involved with a Torakal demon. . . a half-Torakal demon, no less."

Astonishment radiates over me.

"His name was. . . is Richard."

This time, I let my reaction show on my face.

Lydia starts to laugh but chokes on the attempt. When she recovers, she informs me, "Ahhh, Buffy, but it's not what you're thinking. Let me finish."

Pressing my lips together, I nod.

"One evening when I was left waiting for him for six hours, I waited until he arrived home, and I confronted him on where he was going and what he'd been doing. He wasn't at all defensive like I expected him to be. He told me that he had met a half-Torakal demon who had the key to the freedom of demonkind. I asked what he meant, and he described Richard as a nice enough young demon who was an expert in human technology, and in fact, his work was advanced beyond what humans possessed."

Now the advanced technology is beginning to make sense.

"And he said the bonus was that the half-demon worked for the Council and that he had an 'in' to the slayer and her helpers, William the Bloody and Buffy the vampire slayer. At this point, my interest was piqued because of what happened with Nabald. I wanted revenge."

Somehow, I am not surprised by what she is revealing.

"Prenwick said that he thought that Richard wasn't going to turn from the side of the Council but that he intended to trick Richard and the Council into believing that he was going to help them in the demon underground. And that he would give demons something they'd never thought to have. After a few weeks, Prenwick reported that it turned out to be quite easy to trick Richard into falling for his charms and giving him what he needed. He said Richard truly believed that Prenwick was trying to civilize demonkind. After several years, I began to realize that Prenwick's plan wasn't what I thought it was going to be. More and more, he increased his distance from me as he drew deeper into his plan to ruin mankind. And the more I heard about the plan, the more I disagreed."

"How come?" I interject.

"Because he intended to send all humankind to another dimension. . . to cut off our only food source. We are, after all, ingrained into the natural system. Taking our food supply away even with the ability to make clones and generate blood from DNA was risky in my book. What if something should happen, and we lost the ability to generate more blood? We'd be screwed. . . at least, the vampires would. And who would be in charge; would Prenwick have sole control over the system he was creating? The options didn't sound very appealing to me."

"That sounds like a familiar argument, Lydia, and it's a good one," I point out, thinking of Spike's speech to me about Angelus's plan to destroy the world hundreds of years ago. In fact, I am taken aback by how easily his little justification for defying Angelus pops into my head.

She coughs again, and something rattles in her throat. . . not a healthy sound. "I tried discussing my concerns with him, but he wouldn't hear of it. In fact, the more I protested his actions, the more violent he became with me. . . until he threw me in here."

"How long?" I whisper.

"Twenty years."

Air whistles past my lips. "And the message sent to Reyni and I?"

She flinches from the memory of some unknown event. "He forced me. And I had no choice, or he would have killed me. He very nearly did afterwards."

"And the magical ability you possess?"

"A gift from Prenwick. . . from the beginning. He had DNA surgery done on me and had me trained under some of the Wiccans he cloned; he wanted me to have 'the touch' as he calls it."

"And why didn't you go the Council or Richard with information about the plan?"

She shivers at my words. "He'd kill me if they didn't. And trust me, he'd find out."

"Why doesn't he himself possess magical ability?"

"He didn't want demons to believe that he was becoming too powerful because he realized that other demons might plot to eliminate him."

Before I can open my mouth to ask another question, the familiar hum of the door disappearing sounds behind me, and I spring up, ready for action. Lydia groans in response to my action. Spike tumbles through the doorway and crumples to the floor in a heap. I rush to his side as the door slips back into place.

Scanning over his body, I do a thorough, automatic check for injuries. I am dismayed by what I view. The first injury I note is in his left forearm. The bone is broken clean through the skin. . . a compound fracture that's bleeding profusely, sending the sharp smell of copper to my nose and soaking the torn fibers of his clothing. His wrist computer is completely gone. Cross burns are imprinted on his cheeks; the flesh thoroughly scorched so that the flesh shines unnaturally white. His eyes are swollen shut with bruises and pools of blood. Although the rest of his body remains clothed so that I can't examine the full extent of his wounds, his leg is twisted at an odd angle, indicating that the bone is definitely broken. . . if not shattered.

Smoothing his thick hair back from his forehead, I kiss the untouched flesh tenderly. "Spike? Are you awake?" I murmur into his ear.

He moans slightly in reaction to my query but doesn't move. Worry etches my brow, but I am determined to not fall apart at the sight of him until after I attempt to tend to the damage.

Lydia has moved up behind me on shaky legs. "What can I do?"

I blink up at the vampiress who tried to seduce my husband so long ago, and I see only a trembling young woman who has never had easy circumstances. I have to remind myself that she's still a demon or else I'll let my guard down completely around her.

"Can you sit behind him and brace him so that he doesn't slide all over the floor? I need to set the fractures."

Lydia nods and eases herself behind Spike with her legs parallel to his hips and her arms around his waist. Kneeling on the ground near his broken leg, I apologize for the pain and feel his leg. I am thankful that the bone isn't shattered, and in one motion, I snap the bone back into place. In his semi-conscious state, Spike screams inside and outside my head, sending me reeling to the floor. Lydia almost falls backward from the backlash but catches herself, emitting a scream of her own.

Shaking off the waves of dizziness, I turn to the arm, keeping my mind distant from Spike's pain. Because his arm computer is gone, the clothing won't just disappear at the touch of a button, so I rip the cloth up to his shoulder, pulling the strips away and flinging them to the side. Numbly, I push the bone back into the original nest of muscles and tendons. This time the move is met with silence because Spike is now blissfully unconscious and probably in shock. I press the muscle and skin into place, hoping that everything will mend properly as fast-acting vampire healing kicks into gear.

Ripping my shirt, I hurry to the sink to moisten the material. When I return, Lydia has managed to back away from Spike so that he lay on his back. She is curled into a fetal position with her eyes tightly shut against the pain her aid has caused her. I pick her up and deposit her carefully onto her bed and return to Spike.

Methodically, I wash the excess blood away, cleaning him the best I can under my limited circumstances. When I am finished, I slide my wrist computer onto his arm, noting that the system's ability to communicate with others outside our prison is deactivated. However, the clothing regeneration program is intact. In seconds, Spike is dressed more comfortably in a fresh clean outfit.

Somehow, I carry him to the second mattress and arrange his body on his right side so that his damaged arm is not pressured. I climb up and snuggle my backside next to his form, cautiously bringing his arm around me and cradling it to my chest. As emotional and physical exhaustion overcomes me, I finally allow myself to tremble with pent up fear and worry and concern.


	27. Chapter 27

3000, an unknown amount of time later

In a place halfway between dreams and consciousness, I turn over, inhaling the familiar scent of my lover and burying my head in his chest. With my movements, a whimper is elicited from my partner's throat, and my eyes fly open as memories of where I am and what's happening rush back in abundance.

"Spike?" I caress his shoulder. For some reason, I can't fathom a day without his body next to mine.

"Mmmm. Everything hurts." His voice is deep with pain, and all I want to do is take that pain away, but I know I can't.

I settle for simple understanding. "I know, sweetie. I love you."

"I love you, pet, always." His lips brush mine in reassurance that he's still very much alive.

"You know something?"

"Hmmm." His lids are heavy with the need for further healing sleep.

"When you were thrown in with all the injuries and I had to set your arm and leg, I sort of thought of you as my husband," I murmur with a slight bit of embarrassment.

In a stark contrast to their earlier state, his eyes are suddenly wide. Amusement tinges his next words, "Oh, really?"

"Yeah. Even though you're technically not."

His mouth covers mine with tenderness, and I melt into him as our movements intensify. When I am about to fall willingly over the edge and make love to him then and there, he lets out a hiss of pain, and I note that his broken arm has stiffened in its path over me.

He sighs reluctantly. "If I were up to snuff, you'd be ravished right now, miss."

A giggle tumbles forth, and I can't resist kissing and licking the scar along his eyebrow. "I know. Consider yourself in possession of a nice fat rain check for just that."

"And it's a virtual guarantee that I'll cash in." A faint smile overlays his grimace of pain.

Cautiously relocating his wounded but healing arm around my waist, I press close to him. The world of dreams threatens to overcome me, but I force myself to remain alert. Sleep is the least of the matters that needs attendance.

I find myself asking the same question I asked of Lydia who is unmoving below us. "What happened?"

His quiet laughter is as sarcastic as his words, "Amy is a witch."

"I know that; what did she do to you?" I peer up into his blue eyes, which are dark with swirls of emotion in the dim lighting. The puffiness is greatly reduced, and the skin on his face has already regenerated.

"What's it look like she did?" He smirks.

If he weren't so hurt, I'd have punched his arm, but instead, I settle for kissing his barely healed cheeks. "Why?"

"Better question, love." His lids close and a concentrated line forms in his forehead as he shifts his broken leg. "She wanted the magic in me. . . to add to her own power source."

"Magic in *you*?" I am surprised by this revelation.

"Yeah. I've done magic before, remember?" He notices my lingering puzzlement and adds, "The church, Drusilla, Angel."

My eyebrows lift. "How could I forget?" I certainly will never forget the night Spike tried to kill Angel to save Drusilla's unlife after she was nearly killed in Prague. He'd tied Angel and Drusilla together to perform a magical ritual that would transfer Angel's essence into hers. That was also the night Spike was crippled by the organ I knocked on his head.

"Well, she'd read about it and wanted to see what I had in me."

"I've done magic," I point out, recalling the spell I cast to find out what demon or spell might be causing my mother's headaches.

"But not to the extent I have. The spells I cast were pretty potent."

"I-I thought she wanted to seduce you!" I burst out before I can stop myself.

"I'm getting to that part, pet. Hold your horses in check for a bit." He takes a deep breath and laces the fingers of his injured arm through my hair. "Like I said, she wanted to drain me of my limited power. . . to add to her own. She tried using a tactic similar to what Drusilla uses on her victims. Course, she should have known better, being that Dru's tricks don't work on me. After all, I stayed with Dru over a hundred years, but Amy's not really bright enough to know that."

"And?"

"Patience. When that tactic didn't work, she tried that other one." This time he pauses for effect.

I nip his lip playfully with my vampire teeth. "Tell. Now. No waiting for centuries to tell me this time. Want to know everything."

"Ah, love, this is the part you won't like." He presses his lips to my forehead.

"Now." If I were standing, my arms would be crossed.

"Well, when the Dru thing didn't work, she did try to seduce me."

"Ah ha! I knew it!" I exclaim. When Lydia makes a small noise and sounds of altering positions reach my ears, I whisper, "I knew it!"

Spike's words filter through my mind instead of audibly. "It's not like you think, pet. She would attain the power I did have through. . ."

"Through sex!" I scream in his head.

"Yes." His agreement echoes in my mind.

I turn my head from him when he attempts to kiss me.

He continues our internal conversation, "Love, I didn't give in to her." He sighs and turns my chin so that I'm facing him once again.

I fight to keep the hurt from touching my eyes. . . and fail miserably.

"Why do you think she did this to me?" He pushes his hurt arm in my face, and I can smell the faint odor of dried blood and mending tissue. "Cause I so lovingly gave in to her demands?"

I close my eyes and stick out my bottom lip in a classic Buffy pout. I know I'm being childish, but I feel childish. "Prenwick touched me, too."

Spike rolls his eyes. "This isn't a pissing contest, pet." He hesitates, then adds, "And yes, it bothers m. . . everything about that vampire bothers me."

I decide to change the topic. "Did you know that Lydia was below us?"

He raises an eyebrow at me, wondering where I'm going with this. "Yes."

I quickly inform Spike of the details of Lydia's story.

When I am finished, he lets out a low whistle. "Sounds like the resentment you felt for her is gone, love."

"Definitely." The poor vampiress below me had had more than her share of injustice. I briefly marvel that I who had once deemed all vampires utterly evil am now taking into account circumstance. However, if Lydia kills again, I'll have to stake her. I secretly hope she doesn't do anything to justify me having to do so.

"So, do we have a plan to get out of here to stop Prenwick's Rapture ritual?"

"Not really. Although, I was thinking of fashioning a weapon out of the light bulb and the fixture up there and laying in wait in the dark until someone came back to check on Lydia and me."

"It's gonna take a hell of a lot more than physical prowess to conquer this situation, pet."

Out of the blue, another voice races through my mind, "And that's why we're here."

I slide over the edge of the bunk, landing silently as my eyes scan the tiny room for another presence. Having picked up the signal as well, Spike imitates my actions, albeit more slowly.

"Buffy?" the voice calls again uncertainly.

No one else is in the cell, so keeping an eye on the door, I focus on the messages entering my brain.

Nothing.

Glancing at Spike and telegraphing him my plan with my eyes, he allows me to jump onto his shoulders despite the injuries, and he balances me as I charily and methodically break apart the light fixture and bulb, instantaneously fashioning a makeshift weapon and bathing the cell in darkness.

Then, again, "We're going to find you. Don't worry."

"Who are you?" I demand.

"Umm. It's Rhonda. . . Rhonda Zaiman."

I knew I recognized that voice! I guess I just never expected a detective from the international law enforcement team to be who found us. "Rhonda! What are you doing here? How'd you get in?"

"Well, it's not just me."

"Cops?" Just great.

"Nope. I'm with Reyni and Richard. Cops would just muck things up right now."

Excellent point. "How is that you can talk with Spike and me? In our heads? I wasn't aware civilians had access to the technology."

Rhonda is as matter-of-fact as a detective should be. "Actually, that's the reason I came with them; they needed a way to contact you once we got inside. The Council outfitted all the top detectives at the same time as you and Spike. Their connections with the international government facilitated the implementation. So, it made sense that I come."

"Oh. How'd you get in?"

Before Rhonda can respond, the door to our prison disappears and Prenwick appears. "They got in because I wanted them to."

Donning my vampire mask, I launch myself at the vampire while Spike remains in the background as backup. My instincts note that Lydia is struggling to right herself. My foot connects with his midriff. When he staggers, I sweep my foot underneath him, knocking his feet out from under him. He falls forward, and I twist my body so that I turn one hundred eighty degrees and land on top of the vampire, pinning him to the ground with my legs around his waist.

Spike has his knees around Prenwick's head and is holding his shoulders, and I raise the fixture to slash his throat and saw off his head. The sharp edge connects with his throat, drawing blood that flows over his pale skin like a scarlet ribbon.

Then, the unexpected happens.

Prenwick laughs.

My hand stops.

"Oh, Buffy, this is delicious. Having you straddle me, drawing blood. It's quite a turn on, and in front of your lover, no less. I'm quite flattered."

Spike takes the moment to punch him in the nose with his right fist.

Prenwick only laughs harder at the same time as the same two hulking demons appear suddenly behind me, dragging me back and thrusting Spike away from me. Prenwick climbs to his feet, dusting off his clothing and catching the drop of blood from his neck with his fingertips. He makes sure that I am watching him closely as he licks the blood away.

"Come, Buffy, I have special preparations for you before the big event."

I attempt to view Spike around Prenwick's head, but Prenwick grasps my chin roughly. "Don't worry, your lover will be at the big event as well." Then, he binds a silencing device around my mouth, so I can't make a sound.

"Hurry!" I telegraph to Rhonda, half-hoping that she, Richard, and Reyni can do something to stop Prenwick and half-hoping they don't fall into his trap.


	28. Chapter 28

3000, approximately three hours later

A cotton ball floats through the air.

Oh, wait.

Cotton balls don't just float through the air. There's a hand attached to the bit of fluff, controlling the movement.

Why is there a cotton ball? Do they make cotton balls anymore?

A sound like the wind brushes through the air over my ears. The timbre is low and scarcely audible. . . like earlier. . . I don't recall how much earlier, but I do remember. . .

I shudder at the memory. . . bright and sharp like a razor. Thankfully, I'm successful at shutting the thought down.

The sound's resonance changes, laving past more rapidly, more soothingly.

I relax. I'm safe.

"Owww!" I flinch away as the supple, moist texture touches my skin, stinging my mind back to reality.

Cool drafts flow over my hurt skin, but the hurt is nothing compared to the pain between my legs. The jagged ache scrapes over the scenes that flash through my head, leaving me pushed against the wall. My legs draw protectively to my chest, and an un-owned whimper pulses against the flesh pressed to my lips.

Fingers glide over my upper arm, bringing a touch too agonizing to bear. Like a kitten cornered by a predator, I attempt to shrink into myself and appear as small as possible. Maybe then, no one will notice me.

But the owner of the slender digits is persistent. My head involuntarily jerks to the right when the touch explores my cheek.

"Don't!" a voice raspy from. . . don't go there. Anyway, I'm not that person. No.

"Buffy! I need you to snap out of it for a minute."

My ears ring with the shout, and a veil is lifted, but I don't know how long I can hold off the danger.

"W-what?" I cough.

My eyes focus on the woman. . . vampiress before me. Lydia smiles with sympathy. . . no, empathy imprinted on her features. Her facial puffiness has lessened, but she appears tired. "You're here. I was beginning to wonder if you were going to snap out of it." She studies me for a few seconds. "Buffy, I'm not going to hurt you, but I need to tend to your wounds. Pren. . . I've only got a little bit of time and limited supplies."

"I'm okay." I'm a total liar.

"After we clean you up, sterilize your injuries, you have to put this on." She gestures to an outfit hanging on a wall hook beside us.

Beyond caring about time outside of this moment, I shrug. "Okay."

Staying passive, I allow Lydia, my past enemy, to clean the deep scratches and gouges that mar my skin. I concentrate on her ministrations to prevent myself from reviewing the events of the past hours. . . what Prenwick did to me. . . .

"What are my ladies doing?"

My bowed head shoots up to view Prenwick striding across the fairly large room. He is freshly dressed in light green, the color of life. I hadn't realized that there was an inner facility transport device in this room.

As he gets closer, my muscles instinctively react, pushing my body into Lydia. Her arms wrap around my waist unwaveringly and protectively against my trembling. "What exactly did you do to her, Prenwick?"

"Only what I've done to you, only what I've done to you, dear Lydia."

"You've done a lot of things to me, Prenwick. Doesn't answer the question."

"What's the worst I've ever done to you? Think of that. Got it?" Lydia doesn't even twitch. "Good. So, think similar action and multiply that about ten times. That's what I did to our precious Buffy."

I stare at his arm to distract myself. Bad move.

Prenwick's hand snakes out toward me, but Lydia blocks him so that he settles on her instead, gripping her throat with thick fingers. She doesn't cave to his intimidation, and he growls a message of anger at her defiance.

"I don't have time for this, Lydia. Get her dressed. The ceremony starts in fifteen minutes."

* * *

3000, ten minutes later

The room is massive. . . white, smooth walls and floor that seem to blend seamlessly together. A large demon-safe window is carved out of the ceiling that is several feet above. The most recent computer technology lines one wall, and I know from the size of the equipment that the potential power of the machinery is enormous. A myriad of demons of various types is maneuvering and making adjustments to the system.

At the center of the room just beneath the window, a huge circle is drawn with an un-nameable herb that Willow taught me is used in magic rituals. A small area that is roped off with satiny red chords is set up on the right side of the circle, and familiar faces crowd the tiny enclosure. . . Reyni, Richard, Rhonda, Spike, and Prenwick. Only Prenwick is unrestrained.

For security purposes, I'm air-strapped to the chair again, and demon guards are leading Lydia and me toward the small congregation. Somehow in the last few minutes, I've managed to force away the overwhelming horror of what Prenwick did to me in favor of focusing on the current situation. As I have done in my entire career as slayer, I push away my feelings to survive. Only now, I don't ignore my emotions after the danger is passed; I face and deal, but that comes later.

"Hello, Buffy," Prenwick greets as Lydia and I enter the group. "Lovely outfit. Guess I know how to dress my women." I'm dressed in a short black dress that hugs my body tightly. "How are you feeling after our encounter?" He winks at me. "Hope I left a mark."

You left a mark all right. My expression stays blank. "When does the ritual start?"

"Soon." He brandishes a long thin wooden instrument. "Watch." Placing the narrow end of the shaft to his lips, he inhales deeply, blowing a steady stream of air so that a high tone resounds and echoes around the room.

Deliberately, a line of figures of various shapes and sizes files through the doorway. Each is dressed in a robe of deep red like crusted blood. Before I even pick Amy out of the lineup, I sense the magic that emanates off the group. These individuals are the cloned witches and warlocks from throughout the last thousand years. As if marching to a silent thrum of music, they walk the inside of the circle until the ring is complete.

"Buffy?" Spike speaks inside my head. "Pet, are you okay?" He must sense the change in my demeanor.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I transmit silently back.

"What happened to you with Prenwick?" Concern etches his words.

"Can we talk about it later? What's the plan? Tell me that you guys have a plan." I'm attempting to sound light, but even to me, my words ring with false levity.

"There's a plan."

"Good."

The Wiccans join hands as one, and one warlock begins to chant words of a spell in Latin. Prenwick's thick fingers land on my shoulder as he stands behind me. "The ritual has begun. Soon, very soon, Earth will have no more humans." He leans forward to whisper in my ear, "And we will be together for a very long time."

The demons working on the computer system back away as the machinery springs to life with a soft hum. At the same time, the Wiccans turn to face the interior of the circle, their voices rising to join the warlock's. A glowing ball of light forms in the center of the ring. The ball begins to rise higher and higher and intensifies in luminescence as the chant continues.

"You know what the computer's for?" Prenwick asks me.

"No, but you're going to tell me, I'm sure," I reply, allowing a sardonic tenor to color my words.

"Of course, I am. The computer has the power to enhance the magic generated by the Wiccans. It allows the world's human population to be transported out of this dimension to another in a single instant. The computer focuses the energy to target human beings only."

Rhonda speaks in my head, "The plan. Richard added some features to the implant in my head. I'm about to send a signal to the computer to release my chair's restraints. Yours will be released as well. The goal is to reverse the settings on the computer; that's Richard's job. Yours, mine, and Spike's is to stop the demons."

"What about the circle?"

"We're not to disturb the circle."

"Why not?" That seems like an odd command.

"Richard's tweaking the spell."

Before I can finish my list of questions, I feel the air barriers dissolve. Prenwick's hand stiffens against me as if he senses the change. Taking advantage of the instant, I grasp his wrist and flip him forward so that he lands on his back on the ground in front of me. Spike, Richard, Reyni, Rhonda, and Lydia are up instantaneously. Over the continuing cadence of the chant, Prenwick shouts for the demon minions to aid him.

Spike is at my side and presses a wooden stake into my hand. He cups the bare skin of my elbow, shooting memories of an almost forgotten bathroom and an almost forgotten rape from long ago through my thoughts, and I wince and jerk away. Hurt flickers across his face, and I immediately regret my reflexive reaction. In the next instant, realization of the truth of what Prenwick has done to me replaces the hurt, and he shifts rapidly into his vampire mask.

"He's a dead man," Spike rumbles at me.

Prenwick has taken advantage of the delay to extricate himself from our vicinity, and a demon looms behind Spike. Without even turning, Spike uses the infusion of angry energy to drag the demon before him and snap his neck without a second thought. Then, he reaches for me, and I willingly allow him to pull me into his arms.

He nicks my earlobe with his vampire teeth and whispers hungrily, "You're mine always. And I love you, Buffy."

The power that radiates off him lends me the extra strength I need to push aside the lingering remains of the desire to run and hide. My demon pushes forth to match his, and I brush my lips against his, murmuring, "I love you, too. Don't get killed."

Then, we jump into the fray. Given that my weapon is a stake, I systematically aim for the vampires first. Rhonda seems to be mowing a path through the horde with a compact stun ray, and I pick over her scraps, staking the vampires she has stunned before they can recover. By the time I finish that task, I note that Reyni and Rhonda seem to be fending demons off Richard while he hastily works at the computer system. I don't spy Prenwick anywhere.

A large demon suddenly slams into my back, almost bowling me over, but I use his own force to slide him over my head to hit the floor in front of me. Bending forward, I snap his neck before he has a chance to recover from the impact. I whirl to search for Spike and witness him struggling to fend off several large demons while favoring his still vulnerable arm and leg. Lydia is assisting him while periodically stopping to look around for Prenwick as I have been.

Lydia and I spy the vampire we despise at virtually the same time, and we exchange a glance. I nod at her, giving her permission to take first gander at him. She understands my signal, and I slip in behind Spike to take her place at his back, kicking and punching at the demons surrounding us.

"Hi, pet, how's it going?" Spike shouts above the grunting and chanting.

"Peachy. Staked a whole lot of vamps. You?" I sidestep a body Spike sends crumbling down.

"Five demons down. Multitudes to go."

Holding a demon's arms back, Spike faces me with a struggling, flailing demon. I methodically break the demon's legs first before getting in a couple of kicks to the stomach and jaw and finally breaking his neck. Spike unceremoniously drops the lifeless body, and we return to our previous positions back to back.

At that moment, I clearly view Prenwick and Lydia fighting across the large room. Lydia hesitates, and Prenwick darts in for the kill, decapitating her with a long knife. Lydia's body bursts into dust, and violent rage ripples through me. Now, I am determined and stalk toward Prenwick, keeping my eyes set on him and pushing aside other demons who are launching themselves at me. Spike follows directly behind me, and I sense that his anger runs as deep as mine.

Prenwick sees us coming, and for once, fear touches his eyes. The demons around him have abandoned him momentarily in the interest of staying out of his fight with Lydia and tending to the wounded, leaving him exposed to attack. We just have to arrive in time to kill him before his protectors get back into place.

Before we can reach him, Richard steps into our path. "Wait. It is imperative that you get into the center of the circle now."

My eyes flash golden-yellow at him. "Why?"

Spike hurls a demon aside behind me while Rhonda is felled by another demon across the room. Reyni defends the police inspector but is clearly exhausted and leaving her left side open to attack. Meanwhile, the chanting is escalating to an almost unbearable volume, and for the first time, I notice how the room is lit with an almost blinding white light.

Blood is flowing over his cheek, but his expression is firm. "There's no time for argument or explanation. I've reversed the spell, and you have to get into the Wiccan circle. *Now*."

Kicking an approaching demon in the face and sending him staggering back, I assent, "Okay. How?"

"Between their bodies. You and Spike must go now."

"What about you and the others?"

"We will be fine. It is you and Spike who must go."

A wind has begun to swirl around the room with almost gale-like force. My voice no longer carries, and I struggle to hold myself upright against the abrasion. I search for Spike and reach out with my mind.

"Spike. Where are you?"

A cool hand slips into and squeezes mine. "I'm here."

As one, we move to the edge of the magic circle, squinting and bracing ourselves against the light and the wind. Between two Wiccans, I glide my arm through first, feeling the tingle of magic race through my veins like warm liquid. Once the safety of the action sinks into my mind, I plunge the rest of the way through with Spike directly behind me. The winds are absent in the circle, but the light and sound intensify, so Spike and I huddle in a small pile with his body shielding mine and with our hands pressed over our ears.

Minutes pass. Then, the sound and light dissipates, leaving a hollow, echoing void that Spike and I adjust to slowly. Blinking in the pervasive darkness, my eyes peer around the room. Spike and I help each other up. All the witches and warlocks have fallen into a heap like dominoes, and everyone outside the circle is frozen in shock.

Spike steps forth and touches two of the Wiccans, searching for a pulse because our ears have not yet recovered enough to hear heartbeats. "Nothing. They're dead," his voice signals quietly in my head.

Just then, the familiar form of Prenwick looms behind Spike. Hate marring his face, Prenwick raises the knife to slice off Spike's head.

My eyes widen, and I shout in Spike's head, "Duck!"

Spike abides by my directive and goes down, but Prenwick stops mid- swing. Confusion washes over his face, and he stares down at his body with uncertainty. I watch as his form begins to lose solidity, and his limbs begin disappearing. The truth dawns in his eyes, and he glares up at me. Before thinking, I raise the stake that I still grasp and hurtle the wood at him, piercing his heart in the final instant before he is completely gone.


	29. Chapter 29

3000, a few seconds later

I help Spike to a standing position again, and we lean heavily against one another. After the adrenaline rush fades, Spike's leg and arm remain injured, and I have still been physically hurt by Prenwick. After making sure that neither of us is fatally wounded, we survey the remainder of the room.

The computer system is smoking, but no flames are visible. The Wiccans lay in a heap, and now that my senses have recovered, I can tell that Spike is right and none are still alive. Reyni is bending over Rhonda who is cautiously sitting up and rubbing her head. Richard lays huddled in a ball to one side of the computer. His body is motionless.

Then, I realize that Spike and I are the only demons present in the room. Like Prenwick, the rest of the demons have disappeared. I have my theories about this situation, but I am more interested in making sure my friends are well before I attempt to get answers. Without a spoken word between us, Spike limps away to check Richard while I take Rhonda and Reyni.

With her right arm cradled to her chest, Rhonda gets to her feet just as I near. "Buffy, it's over."

"It seems to be." I nod to Reyni. "You okay?"

Reyni's face is covered in blood, both human and demon. "Yeah. I'll live."

Before they get a chance to ask how I'm doing, Spike calls from behind me, "Buffy, love, you better come here!"

Relieved that I don't have to face a barrage of questions just yet about Prenwick, I lead the women to Richard's side. Richard has rolled onto his back, and his expression is distorted with pain, bruises, and blood. His eyes are tightly shut.

From his position squatting next to Richard, Spike raises eyebrows at me. "Pet, something's really wrong with him, but I can't detect any wounds bad enough to make him this bad off."

With a small moan, Richard squints up at me. "Buffy, I'm dying."

Imitating Spike's stance, I place my hand on Richard's forearm. "How do you know? Your injuries aren't extensive enough. You'll be fine."

"Maybe his injuries are internal," Reyni suggests.

Rhonda pipes up from behind me, "The authorities are on their way with medical crew. They have another emergency to take care of first."

Not taking my gaze from Richard's, I repeat, "See. You'll be fine."

"No, I won't." He coughs dryly, too weak to cover his mouth. "The spell. . ." His eyes drift shut, and I begin to worry for the first time.

I squeeze his arm with my full strength. His eyes shoot open. "Richard, what about the spell?" My tone is urgent. We need to know, and if he's truly dying, time is precious.

He is so still that I would have thought him dead if he did not have a heartbeat. Then, "The spell was reversed."

"Reversed? Reversed how?"

"All the demons in the world are gone." The statement is so low that I'm not sure if I heard him properly.

"Gone?" Boy, I'm good with the vocabulary today.

"To the other dimension. Reversed." His body begins trembling.

"But Spike and I are still here." I think I know how Richard will respond, but I have to be certain.

"Love, it's why Richard wanted us in the circle," Spike explains when Richard is silent.

I frown in frustration and disbelief. "I need to hear it from Richard."

"Y-yes. True." Richard takes a deep, halting breath. "It's why I'm dying. The half of me that's demon is gone."

Then, I notice that the absence of Richard's tail, his one mark of demon lineage. "I believe you, Richard." I brush the hair out of his eyes. "Why did you send Spike and me to the circle and not yourself, too?"

He manages to open his eyes again, looking from Spike to me. "You're needed here, and I didn't have time to make it. Reyni needs you. The world needs you. You need each other. There will be others like Prenwick. . . human others. You'll have to stop them. And I'm tired." His eyelashes settle against his cheeks.

Richard says nothing else, and I realize he probably won't say anything else. Suddenly, I feel his weariness, and I'm surprised that I can identify. I feel Spike staring at me, and I read the same feelings mirrored in his eyes.

As Richard's heartbeat fades away, Reyni kneels beside me and puts her arms around my waist and her head on my shoulder. The virtually empty ritual chamber echoes with the sounds of approaching emergency workers and security officers.

* * *

3000, several hours later

"Thanks, Rhonda." I reach over to hug the petite, dark-haired woman. She'd stayed with the rest of us during the international police inquiry and had seen Reyni home with us.

"You're welcome." She smiles tiredly and rubs her eyes, an almost childish gesture by such a tough young woman. "I should be getting home to the husband and kids."

Spike plants a soft kiss on her forehead. "You're welcome to bring the family over for dinner anytime."

"Will be funny explaining to the hubby the blood part and why I have vampire friends." She laughs a laughter that only comes with staying up beyond that point of sheer exhaustion. "Night, all."

"Night," I call as she enters the transport.

Spike then turns to me and slips a large, cool hand in my little one, stroking my palm with his thumb. "Bedtime, love?"

"Yes! Sleep needed." Time for processing emotions will come later.

We complete our sleep preparations in record timing, but before I can climb into bed next to Spike, I hesitate, hugging my ribs lightly. I'm not really sure the reason for my unwillingness. . . after all, Spike and I have been together for a lot longer than the miniscule piece of time I spent with Prenwick. At my reluctance, Spike's face transforms into a mixture of hurt but also understanding.

He pats the bed next to him and whispers gently, "It's okay, love. I just want to hold you. Nothing else tonight."

I am torn between desire for him and reluctance to touch him. . . anyone who is male. Cold tears roll down my face before I recognize that I'm a bit afraid. His eyes are filled with a need to simply touch me, but he won't come to me because he knows I need to decide for myself tonight.

"I-I can't." I flee the room, shaking like a leaf all over.

Spike doesn't follow me, and anger flashes through my heart. I want him to take care of me like he always has, and I'm perturbed that he hasn't come after me. I try to stay angry, but my body is more exhausted than my will. Soon, I fall into a fitful, nightmare-filled sleep on the lounger.

* * *

3000, a few hours later

Someone is shaking my shoulders, and I hear whimpering and crying. Before I can identify the person who is making such noises, Spike's voice sounds in my mind, "Pet, wake up. You're dreaming and crying and screaming."

The familiar scent of peppermints and smoke fills my nose, and I cling to and weep into the chest attached to the scent like a frightened child. "Don't leave me. I'm scared."

With fresh tenderness, he scoops me up and gathers me in his lap as he sits down on the lounger. Rocking me back and forth in rhythm with my hiccups and sobs, he strokes my back and breathes, "Shhh. Don't worry, pet; I'm not going anywhere."

"You left me." I know I'm making no sense whatsoever, and I don't care. I'm just drowning in his familiar touch and soothing voice.

"I'm sorry, love, I thought it's what you wanted. . . after what happened with Prenwick. Then, I tried to give you space this evening because I thought you needed it. Bloody hell, you confuse me, woman." His last statement is said in a contradictory tone of kindness that makes me laugh through the tears.

"I'm good at that, huh?" Presenting him a watery smile, I gaze up into his blue eyes, which are dark with love. . . not desire. . . love, and I feel myself offer him a tentative trust.

"A bloody expert." He kisses my nose. "A beautiful expert at confusing me."

A moment passes.

Then, I speak again, "I got scared. At the ritual, I could touch you. It was life or death. But, when we got here. . . tonight. . . too intimate. I-I was afraid you'd want to-to. . . make love, and I can't. . . not yet. I guess I just reacted without thinking."

"Which you're allowed to do. I don't want to hurt you, love. I just want you to feel okay around me, and I realize you might not for a while."

"It's not *you*," I correct him because I want to make certain he knows that I'm not rejecting *him*. "It's just the situation and what happened with Prenwick. I'd feel the same with any guy."

"So, now I'm just any guy," he teases, pushing a lock of my hair behind my ear and then wiping my cheek clean with his fingers.

I punch his arm. "Hey. No, you're not. You're mine." Snaking my arms around his ribcage, I hug him tightly.

We stay unmoving in the same position until my body relaxes against him, and my tears are spent. His hands remain loose and undemanding about my hips, and his chin rests on the crown of my head.

I sigh sleepily. "Take me to bed and don't let go of me."

Spike doesn't need another signal and stands with me clinging to his body like a baby koala bear. Moments later, I'm spooned against him and for the first time since Prenwick touched me, I feel completely at ease.


	30. Chapter 30

3000, the next day

Three computers are spread across the meal table in the dining room. Daylight streams through the vampire-proof windowpane, streaking a glare across my glare-proof computer screen. I attempt to concentrate on sending sentences across the blank page, but I can't seem to focus. To my right, Spike is tapping his finger on the table top to the beat of a band long lost to human record, and on my left, Reyni is humming along intermittently because Spike's been teaching her the melodies since he met her.

I take a sip of sweet, metallic blood from my mug and proceed to rub my foot up and down Spike's leg, sliding my bare toe up his jeans leg and massaging his calf. The rhythmic beats stop. Poking my head around my monitor, I catch Spike watching me with a silly grin on his face.

"Pet?"

I smile impishly back. "What?" My tone is full of playful innocence. I need that after the intensity of our recent adventure.

"Why aren't you working on your report to the Council?" He already knows the answer, but he insists on picking on me.

I purposefully bat my eyes at him. "I'm bored. . . And I don't want to."

"Now what kind of example are you setting for Reyni? Council business is serious." He takes a stab at the stern look but fails utterly.

"Yeah!" Reyni agrees emphatically. "I'm over here working away, and what are you doing?"

I lean over toward Reyni's monitor, which I find blank. "Uh huh. Like you've written pages over here."

"You're right; it is boring as hell," Spike slides his chair back and balances his forearms on his thighs. "How do we explain to a panel of stodgy old men and women what really happened?"

"Watchers have been doing it for centuries, Spike," I remind him.

"But for this kind of phenomenon?" He pauses for effect. "Never."

"I know what we need!" Reyni bursts out.

"What, pet?"

"Ice cream. Brain food of the gods."

"Sounds like a plan to me," I insert my support of Reyni's suggestion. Ice cream is one of those treats that's remained popular through the ages. "The parlor in Bailey?"

"Of course! What other one is there?" Reyni bounces in her seat.

In mere minutes, the computers are put away, and we enter the transport to Bailey, a little town outside Diolar, a major world city, second only in size to the international capital. The ice cream parlor is tucked away in the corner of the world's largest shopping tower. Despite the tiny parlor's popularity, the owners always manage to make the shop seem void of crowds and sticky messes. Adorned with red and white tiles, tablecloths, and seat covers, the shop is dimly lit, allowing for a semblance of comfortable atmosphere and privacy that contrasts with the garish décor.

Reyni happily orders mint chocolate chip ice cream in a white chocolate-dipped waffle cone, and I marvel at her ability to bounce back from the horrors she witnessed yesterday. She's so young; yet, I don't doubt her ability to adapt rapidly and easily. I order French vanilla in a cinnamon cone, and Spike grabs his usual double chocolate with marshmallows and cashews in a vanilla cone. Spike puts ancient quarters in the jukebox, the only one seen in centuries, and picks out some old rock songs I've never heard.

While we eat at one of the brightly colored tables, Reyni notes, "I think I might want to color my hair in a few minutes. Any suggestions?"

"Oh, no you're not, bit," Spike growls and then winks at her. "Your hair's beautiful the way it is. . . all dark and curly. Do you know that other girls would kill for your natural curls, dark hair, and fair skin?"

She rolls her eyes at him. "I bet you say that to all the slayers."

"Actually, just me and you. . . and maybe Ayledan," I correct her, savoring a bite of French vanilla cream and the feel of Spike's hand casually resting on my knee.

"Oh. I don't. . ."

Reyni trails off as the thunder of running footsteps approaches. Several unknown international police officers burst through the doors to the ice cream parlor. Thinking that they are friendly, Reyni greets them with a smile, but after years of experience, Spike and I are more wary and more prepared to resist. One obviously inexperienced officer pushes Reyni out of the way and flies clumsily at me with a stun ray in hand. Ice cream long forgotten and discarded, I kick the weapon away and meticulously hit him again so that he is merely knocked unconscious without real damage. Spike and Reyni are holding their own, each taking down two officers at once.

"Stop!" My head snaps up at the voice inside and outside my head, and action ceases. Hair pulled up in a functional bun, Rhonda enters the messy scene with a frown. She shakes her head at the officers who are struggling to rouse. "I'm sorry, guys, I tried to tell Frank at headquarters not to send his squad after you because you'd do this. Did he listen? Of course not!"

I cross my arms and glance at Spike who seems to be just as concerned as I am. "What's going on, Rhonda?"

Rhonda offers a hand to a fallen officer. She smiles at me, but worry lines remain around her eyes. "Frank at headquarters wants to talk with you and Spike. About what, I have no clue."

"Um, who's Frank, pet?" Spike asks Rhonda.

"The international police chief." She sees our incredulous expressions and reluctantly adds, "It would look very bad on you if you didn't come willingly."

I catch Spike's attention again. He shrugs. I turn back to Rhonda. "All right."

* * *

3000, twenty minutes later

In contrast to what I expect, the headquarters is quiet and virtually empty. Even the officers whom Spike, Reyni, and I fought have vanished. At vacant desks, several computers remain in the on position as if people simply abandoned them. Mugs of coffee are still steaming, and the fluid smells fresh. My vampire senses are on hyper-alert. Something is wrong. Spike touches my waist briefly to let me know that he feels the same thing. Reyni brings up the rear after insisting on coming.

"That's odd," Rhonda comments. "Everyone was just here a few minutes ago."

"Well, they don't seem to be now," I return. "What's going on, Rhonda?"

Her heart rate betrays her concern and apprehension. "I don't know. Guess we'll soon find out." She leads the way through the large, silent office toward the conference room. "Frank said to meet him in here."

Reaching out as we near the conference room, I search for signs of a heartbeat. I hear and sense nothing. The only people we know who can mask their bodily functions are. . .

Spike looms into my personal space, and we exchange knowing looks. Rhonda swings open the conference room door to reveal. . . a cache of Watchers. Damn it.

* * *

3000, several minutes later

"So, we've heard your version of what happened," Charles Arnold, the head of the Council, states in a gravelly tone like he's just woken from sleep. He is tall, slender man with lanky muscles, huge blue eyes, and a mop of curly red hair. Although he's clearly one of the youngest Council leaders, he holds himself with a confidence that exudes power. The other four Watchers pale in comparison to Charles and are merely shadows to their leader.

We are seated around a long, smooth metal table in the conference room. Spike and I are directly across from Charles, Reyni is on our left, and Rhonda is on our right. The room is lit with soft lights. . . just enough to maximize human visual acuity.

"Our version?" Spike wonders aloud, sarcasm deepening his words. The muscles in his arm are tightening, and I place a restraining hand over his fist. He relaxes a fraction at my touch but not fully because he doesn't trust Watchers and never will.

"You don't know the full truth, and we're here today to tell you." Charles places his palms on the table in front of him to illustrate an aura of alacrity.

"And that is?" Reyni asks assertively. She's getting better at dealing with the Council.

"Must this investigator stay? She's not involved with this." Charles casts Rhonda a pointed look. Rhonda glares at him and crosses her arms in response.

"She stays," I insist. "She *is* part of this."

Charles sighs resignedly before continuing, "First, I must tell you that Richard had no knowledge of what I'm about to tell you."

That's interesting. "Okay."

"We've known about Prenwick for several years now. We actually arranged the meeting between Prenwick and Richard because of his connection to Lydia, the remaining member of Nabald's clan."

"And you're saying that Richard had no clue about your arrangement?" I admit to being a bit skeptical.

"No, Richard did not. We hired another demon to introduce them. We had no idea of Prenwick's ambitions, but our infiltration turned out to be a fortuitous one."

Spike snorts. "Fortuitous for you but not for Richard."

"Well, the human population is safe, is it not?" Charles's eyes flash, but his demeanor appears calm.

"Tell that to all the people who were burned in the field and who disappeared as a result of Prenwick's little experiments. Tell that to the Wiccans he cloned and then allowed to die in carrying out his ritual," I add to Spike's point, quite proud that Spike's managed to restrain himself. I return my hand to my lap.

"What's done is done."

"Oh, really," Rhonda speaks for the first time. "You risked losing your slayer and your two best warriors to Prenwick. You knew what was happening, and you willingly allowed them to go into a situation in which they might never come out."

Charles regards Rhonda with contempt. "That's their job."

Reyni clears her throat. "Umm. That's actually *my* job, not Spike and Buffy's. They do this because they want to, not because they have to."

"She's right," I maintain. "We don't answer to you or any other members of the Council. We work with you but not *for* you."

Without warning, Spike launches himself across the table and lands behind Charles, pinning the Council leader against the back of the chair. His face in vampire form, eyes bright with fire, he growls, "Do you know what Prenwick did to Buffy? Do you? Do you know what he could have done to Reyni. . . or Rhonda? You call yourself a leader? You're just as much to blame for the damage Prenwick inflicted as Prenwick himself. You don't deserve to live."

The other Watchers stir to life as if they're half-asleep. Before they can touch my lover, I send him a warning with my thoughts, "Spike. Back down. Now's not the time. I don't want to lose you."

Spike shakes off his vampire face and releases Charles, patting his shoulders. "But now's not your time." He leans against the wall behind Charles, in manner similar to Spike of long ago, keeping his arms crossed across his chest.

Charles smiles as if he has perfect control. "I have some more news to tell you. And it's not good. The international government is intent on finding a culprit for the loss of life, and being that you're the only demons left in this world, they are more than a little wary of you. The general populace is clamoring for your deaths, but I managed to convince government leaders to allow the Council to handle the situation within our circle."

"Situation? We didn't do anything but save the world. . . again." I am personally beyond sick of the Council's politics.

"I'm sorry. This is beyond my control. Within the next two years, you and Spike will be held accountable for what your kind has done. The Council is already in debate about what to do with you as the last of the demons."


	31. Chapter 31

3001

Arms laden with packages, I arrive home from a shopping expedition with Reyni. She's getting married next year to one of Rhonda's sons, and we've been searching for a dress and accessories. I haven't done that since Ayledan married Ben, and the memories of a similar shopping trip with Ayledan are stronger than I would have thought. As usual, I have a special surprise for Spike who is supposed to be back from a lunch date with Rhonda by now.

Picking out Spike's present, I dump the rest of my purchases on the lounger and listen closely for signs of life from our apartment. Rain laps against the window in the dining area, and just behind that sound, I hear the whistle of the wind. As I tiptoe down the hall, the sweetly scented breeze finds me and leads me to the bedroom where the solid balcony door is ajar. Like a trail of breadcrumbs, stray raindrops are flicked by the wind to touch the bare skin on my arms, face, and neck.

Peering around the corner, I find Spike, staring out into the grey sky with his legs splayed and hands clasped in his lap. His clothes and hair are drenched, and I have to squint and blink a few times to realize that tears are rolling down his cheeks.

Recalling many a time when Spike has been comforting through his mere presence, I slide quietly onto the bench next to him. Running my fingertips over his bare forearm, I pry his hands apart and lace the fingers of my right hand with his left. A faint press of his palm into mine is the only response I get in return. Reaching up, I catch his salty droplets with my opposite hand.

"What's wrong?" Raindrops tickle across my scalp and begin to soak my clothes.

Not removing his eyes from the scene in front of him, he sighs. "I don't know, pet. I'm just having all these feelings about tomorrow."

I've been striving not to think about what happens tomorrow, and so far, I've been pretty cleverly pushing the thoughts away. Of course, Spike's never been good at hiding his feelings. . . at avoiding. I suppose, I've had a lot of practice.

Determined to overcome old habits, I ask, "What kind of feelings?"

"Well, part of me feels sad, nervous, and just bloody pissed off. I mean, after almost a year of struggling to get the Council. . . and the world to listen, it's still boiling down to tomorrow."

I understood the feeling. Negotiating with the Council, much less the government, isn't easy, and Spike and I spent the last several months appealing to various governmental agencies for support. Spike and I had even gone before the world population, telling our story to issue a plea for asylum. Reyni and Rhonda emerged as leading figures in our fight with Reyni tackling the Council and Rhonda the government.

The international government finally backed down, but not surprisingly, the Council hadn't. Tomorrow, the Council begins a hearing on our behavior in the past and will eventually make a decision about our future. We thought about running again as we had so long ago, but we are too well known now.

"I feel about the same. But we've done everything we possibly can. We just have to see what the Council says. We do have our supporters among the Watchers despite how it seems." I lean my head on his shoulder, gazing at the grey infinity. The sky makes everything less complicated and more peaceful.

"I miss the bit," Spike murmurs, laying his cheek on my head.

"You should have come with us this afternoon, then. Reyni would have loved to have you along."

"I know, but I meant Dawn." The comment comes out of nowhere.

After a moment, I swallow, my mouth dry. "Yeah, me, too. I miss her everyday."

"Do you think she knew how much we loved and appreciated her?"

I twist my head up to sweep my lips across his before re-positioning ear on his sleeve. "Of course, she knew and so do the other people in our lives. . . they know we care. We've made sure of it."

Spike makes another leap. "You know, this may sound a little off, but I feel relieved about tomorrow, too. I'll almost feel happy for them to decide something. I-I'm tired, Buffy. There's a part of me that's really tired like Richard said he was right before. . . . The funny thing is that I never thought I'd feel this way."

A strange relief radiates off me. "Me, too. I've been feeling that way for a while. It's a scary feeling."

"Yes, love, it is."

"You know that no matter what happens, we'll be okay?"

"Yeah, pet, I know." He pulls me onto his lap with his arms around my waist so that his chin rests on my shoulder. I lean heavily back against him, enjoying the feel of his body against mine.

* * *

3001, months later

"We have no further use for them," Michael Daquilla states firmly. Michael is a tall angular man with a pale and almost pasty complexion, ruddy cheeks, and tiny eyes that always make him appear as if he is squinting at something. Although his mouth does not open, his arms bob in rhythm with his words, and he stands stiffly on the podium, addressing the agency whose members are deciding our fate. Too bad Reyni and Rhonda didn't have a say.

Glancing at Spike out of the corner of my eye, I wish to the powers that be that I am allowed to talk with him, but telepathic communication other than that done by the appointed speakers is forbidden in the session room. Communicating out of turn means one seals his or her death, so I settle for the slight, almost imperceptible wink he gives me and the press of his thigh against my own as the only form of reassurance he can provide.

A young, dark-haired woman rises from amongst the crowd and raises her hands fluidly. Her voice in my head is calm and soothing like the melodious trickle of a brook over stones that line a riverbed. "They have done no harm. . . only good. Just because they have nothing left to do since the world is free of demons, does not mean they should be eliminated. And what about their popularity among the general populace? How will we handle that?"

"But, Ms. Griffin, they could very easily *fill* the world with demons again should they ever take the notion to switch sides. And the general populace can easily be swayed one way or the other," Michael counters, running a hand through his greasy hair. "How many times do we have to go over the same points, people? They're a dangerous risk to have around. End of story."

He pauses to take a deep breath. "What's our mission statement here, people? Eliminate the demons on this planet. We've battled demons for countless generations. We're all trained in some other occupation that would be less dangerous, would be more enjoyable, would make us more money. Why don't we take advantage of that fact? Because we still have two demons on our hands. The solution is clear."

My muscles tense at his words so that my posture thrusts my body forward, and I resist the temptation to fly over the bar we are seated behind to rip his head off with my bare hands. Spike's leg pushes further against mine with some urgency, and I am able to at least unclench my jaw muscles. Michael's argument has large holes, but I don't know if most of the Council members see them or are unwilling to see them. They know nothing about us, and I am driven nearly mad at my inability to respond to their accusations.

An older man interrupts the back and forth arguments that have been going on for several months, "You may stop now. The decision has been made. A majority has spoken."

This time, the one person who has held himself back the entire interview finally gives in to his rage, and the harshness of his tone rakes through my brain. "Bloody hell, I hate their sodding silent majority votes!"

I nod tersely, praying no one heard his slip.

During debate about important issues the agency members' thoughts are monitored by a high-class, supposedly infallible computer system, and when the majority of individual members have thoughts that agree one way or the other, the decision is finalized. The problem is that with human beings' whirling thoughts, one never knows when they will agree or when the verdict is coming.

"And?" Michael snarks, placing his fingertips on the counter in front of him.

The older man shoots us a glance laced with pity, and declares, "They are to be eliminated as soon as possible.."

Michael chooses that moment to beam triumphantly back at us. He's never liked us. I suppose he is jealous of what we share with one another and of our recent healthy status in the public's eye.

"However," the speaker continues, "they have options."

* * *

3002, a couple of months later

Frantically, I run from one end of the apartment to the other, grabbing various items to pack in the two cases we are allowed to bring with us. Spike sits on the bed with his legs stretched out and his hands behind his head, watching me with an amused expression on his face.

Finally, I stop and glare at his smug smirk. "What? Why are you staring? And why aren't you helping?"

"I just think it's amusing, pet, that you're packing two bags full of things that we don't even need. The ship will have blood and other necessities."

I survey the piles on the bed. There's no way all of the stuff will fit in the cases. I plant my hands on my hips. "Well, Mr. Perfect, I'd like to see you do this then."

"I'm having too much fun watching you do it." The smirk grows into a grin.

"Well, I don't really see anything I can eliminate."

Spike reaches forward and plucks an object from a pile of similar objects. "Sea shells, pet? Why do we need seashells?"

"So, we can hear the ocean in space?" Spike raises both eyebrows at my response, so I modify, "Because we collected them together, and I treasure them?"

Spike smiles tenderly at the memory I've conjured in his brain. Not so long ago, before the incident with Prenwick, we spent three months along the beach and took many a midnight stroll, hunting seashells and making love in the sand. "Okay, but just bring one or two. How's that?"

"I can't bring them all?" I dodge a playful swat that he makes at my bottom and assent, "Okay. One or two."

As I'm sorting through the rest of the piles, I ask, "Are you still up for dinner with Reyni and Rhonda and their families tonight?"

"It'll be hard but yeah."

"Vids of Dawn and crew?" I hold up several small vid devices.

Spike snatches them from me. "Of course, we're definitely bringing those." He crosses the room to his storage space and returns with something else.

"Your music collection? Sorry, no room," I say, turning my nose up at his selection.

"If you're bringing bloody seashells, I'm bringing my music," he insists stubbornly. "Besides the music takes up less room and provides hours more of entertainment."

"You can take your own ship if I have to listen to that crap the whole way," I pout, sticking out my lower lip slightly.

Spike nibbles my lip and slips his collection into the case while he's distracting me. Then, he tickles my ribs, sending me to my knees with laughter. I drag him down with me, forcing his hands away as he lays me down on my back. As his weight presses down on me, igniting an odd mixture of comfort and desire, his blue eyes are heavy with emotion.

Going somber, he asks, "Love, do you have any regrets?"

Holding his eyes steadfastly with mine, I answer firmly, "Nope. I don't. I don't regret a minute of the time I've spent with you. I don't regret any of the choices you or I have made. I love you. Simply because of that fact, I have no regrets."

He cups my cheek with his hand. "Good. I don't either. And I love you, too."

"Spike?" I brush my nose against his.

"Hmmm, what?" He nuzzles my neck, shooting sparks along my spine.

"Make love to me one more time. Here. On Earth."

He grins at my invitation. . . as if he ever needed one. "Of course, love. I thought you'd never ask!"


	32. Chapter 32

3002, present day

Silent as a cat, I pad to the front deck where I plan to wait for Spike to awaken. I can almost predict like clockwork how long he will take to regain consciousness and search for me. Sometimes he arrives half- or fully asleep as if some primal survival connection exists between us. Even now, I feel that link thrumming between us as if an inter-psychic cord is tied tight from him to me.

Although there is no overhead illumination, the deck is alive with the blinking lights of the control panels and soft clicks of the tracking device the Council had implanted in the ship to ensure accuracy of our trajectory. Two seats are stationed apart from one another in front of a large demon-safe window so that we may view space without fear of burning to a cinder. Using my fingertips as a sensitive guide, I slide onto one of the comfortable cushions that cover each chair. My legs automatically draw up to my body so that my knees form a cradle for my chin. My arms surround my legs, and my waist-length blond hair cascades over my body like a protective blanket.

Staring into the vastness of space isn't as soothing as looking into the sky. Somehow, space makes me feel more isolated, colder. Maybe that was the Council's intention. I attempt to draw my thoughts together to perhaps feel a sense of finality, of peace, but nothing seems to coalesce properly. On Earth, my questions seemed answered, and the future seemed certain and justifiable. Now. . .

I sense him behind me before he touches me, and like a small child, I instinctively hold my arms up for him to hold me. Needing no further suggestion, he slips beneath me with a light sigh, hugging me tightly to his body. Marveling at the solidness of his chest against my back, I realize that he won't always feel that way.

He sweeps my cloak of hair to one side and emits a quiet puff of cool air along my neck as he whispers, "Pet, are you okay?"

Continuing to gaze ahead, I respond more quietly than human ears can hear, "Yes, why?"

"You're quieter than normal. . . quieter than you've been since we left Earth."

Without prelude, I leap to my burning questions, "Was everything we did futile? What Richard said right before he died about other humans bringing back the demons. . . don't the Council members realize that might very well happen? Don't they realize there's more than one way for them to come back? Why so much fanfare for us? I don't understand."

Spike cradles both my hands in his. "Ahh, love, good questions. No, I don't believe everything we did was futile. If we saved one life, made things better for only a small amount of time, we succeeded."

"But what about the future?" I place my palms against his.

"That's not our affair, pet. We can't control decisions made by others, especially human others. Human beings are very irrational creatures. Sometimes they do things, make decisions that don't make sense for the long run, that satisfy only a very cursory desire. The majority of the Council wanted a breather from their main directive, and they saw a moment that would likely be the closest they ever come to that break, so they took it. It might not make sense in terms of the likelihood that all demons are banished from the Earth, but it makes sense for the time. . . to them. And for a time, they may be right. The power behind that spell sapped a great deal of mystical energy from this dimension; it will take a few years to build back up."

"I know. . . I guess that I just needed to hear it out loud." I turn sideways to curl up into the curve of his frame.

Spike's hand roves over the length of my hair and down my back. "As for the fanfare bit, they're using us as the symbolic end to demon-kind and the future of the world without demons. People seem to need a marker, a ceremony to denote big events. This time, we're the end note."

"That's not fair." I close my eyes, imagining a heart beat in his chest.

"It never is, love, it never is."

We say nothing for several minutes, listening to the hum of the computer system driving the ship.

Then, I hear Spike, "Do you remember the first time you knew you loved me?"

He's never asked me this question. "You know when. When I told you I loved you. That night before apocalypse number with the gang. . . I don't remember which apocalypse it was."

"No, not the first time you told me you loved me. When did you first realize that you did?"

I suppose that's a different question, but it's also one for which I have a definitive answer. Lifting my head to take in his full visage, I answer as honestly as I can, "The night you came over to proofread Dawn's undergraduate history thesis. You fell asleep in the chair with the paper half-read and marked up with corrections. You were there when Dawn and I got back from patrol."

"Really? That's when? Not after a major battle victory or after a round in the sack?"

"Nope. That's when."

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face. "Good."

My lover is happy; I'm happy. "My turn. You told me a long time ago that you didn't know why you loved me. So, now I'm asking again. Why do you love me, Spike?"

Placing his hand at the nape of my neck, he pulls me close, breathing cool air over my eyelids before sweeping his lips over mine. I can feel the words on my lips as he speaks them, "All those years ago, I didn't know what love was. I didn't understand the rush of feelings I had around you. Now, I know that those feelings weren't love.

"What I felt for you soon after that. . . what I feel for you now. . . that's love. It's the connection we share. . . the loneliness I feel when you're not there, the joy I have on your return, the mutual understanding we have that even if we have a horrendous fight you won't leave and neither will I, the happiness I feel when you're happy and when you've done something you feel proud of. It's the way I can talk with you about my true feelings. It's the way you don't run away from yours anymore. And there are so many other things I could add here. Should I go on, pet?"

I shake my head, letting him see the depth of my feelings for him in my face. I push my lips more fully into his, kissing him with an intensity and urgency I've never before felt. He returns my ardor with equal passion. I could lose myself forever in the feel of him against me. Maybe. . . maybe we could spend eternity suspended in space just like this.

I get my wish.

A shrill beeping noise disrupts our embrace like an angry authority figure. Startled, I jerk back, my eyes wide. Spike catches me before I lose my balance and fall from his lap. He seems to be frightfully calm in opposition to my flurry. The ship has ceased moving and is beginning to turn.

"Spike?" My voice betrays my fear. What's about to happen is a reality that I've been denying.

"Shouldn't you move to the other chair they've provided, love?" Spike's voice is scratchy with emotion despite his outward placidity.

For the second time today, I shake my head. "I'm staying here with you."

"Okay." He steadies me on his lap with his hands on my hips, and a single tear escapes from the corner of one eye.

A flood releases from my own eyes, and a tiny sob catches in my throat. "Do you think we'll go to heaven or hell?"

Spike emits a pure laugh that overcomes the sorrow. "How is it, pet, that even at the saddest times of my life, you make me laugh?" He lays a hand on my damp cheek.

I giggle through my tears, briefly snuggling my nose and mouth into his palm. "Hey, I thought that was your job. And you didn't answer my question."

"You never let me get away with anything, do you?"

"Nope." I must agree with that.

"No matter where we end up, we'll be together, love."

I need reassurance. "Are you sure?"

"I'm absolutely sure."

With a subtle change, the ship stops a second time. I don't have to turn around to know that the sun is warm at my back through the demon-safe window. With every fiber of my being, I sense the protective shield lifting, and I am keenly aware of every muscle movement and change in my lover's solid form beneath me. Soon the Council and the world will know that we are no more.

"I love you, Spike," I whisper across his mind.

"I love you, too, Buffy."

Time is suspended for the briefest of moments in honor of our passing. Even while our bodies are crumbling to dust around us, my emerald eyes never leave his sapphire ones as we confront the sun together.

The end.


End file.
